


Choices

by internetname



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-09-12 22:35:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16880520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: This is my story for the Fic Facers 2018 Charity Auction (https://www.juliahouston.com/fic-facers/). It's going to be over 20,001 words when I'm done. Dean, Sam, Castiel, and Jack go on a hunt that lays out some specific choices for Dean and Castiel. The story takes place in early Season 14, after Dean's no longer a vessel but before Jack gets sick. Then it goes AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [under_the_silk_tree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_the_silk_tree/gifts).



Trying to talk business with an Angel of the Lord was difficult most days, but doubly so when he’d spent the night dreaming of said angel demonstrating divine grace with a flexibility unknown to mankind, not to mention an ability for suction that rivaled a Dyson upright.

It didn’t help that Castiel’s stuck-on-five-o’clock shadow and bed hair would basically scream sex on anyone, let alone his best friend/celestial wavelength of angelic intent who’d once pieced his body and soul back together after busting into literal Hell to get him back.

In fact, everything about Cass was literal. He was a literal miracle, the literal best friend anyone could have, a savior and a warrior, favored of the Almighty, and a being who had allowed him and Sam to save the world.

It was really, really inappropriate to be fighting off a boner while standing in the Men of Letters bunker while said Celestial Savior was helping Jack and Sam talk strategy in front of a bunch of Apocalypse World hunters and his own damn mother.

He blamed it all on his baby brother.

No, he blamed it on that damn knife.

Jack had found the case: seven missing boys and girls, thirteen to fifteen years old, all within a thirty-mile radius of Varlas Trailer Park in Vest Virginia and all within the last two years.

The trailer park wasn’t much, even for a trailer park. Just a few lines of RVs with your basic hookups and a central station/laundromat. The Impala would have stood out—not to mention totally outclass the place—so they’d borrowed a 2006 Holiday Rambler and driven in one afternoon to set up their propane tank and act real friendly.

“I’m just saying it’s awkward,” Dean said as he and Sam carted a load each up the stairs to the coin-operated, actually pretty clean laundry room that smelled like fabric softener with a hint of lemon. It looked like rain might be on the evening’s agenda, so they’d brought laptops to keep from having to go back outside for a while. “I mean, four guys, one them decidedly younger than the rest. You can understand why people want the full story right away.”

The place looked empty, but he and Sam knew a man and woman were somewhere in the building, probably around the corner at the vending machine and listening to every word.

“We’re just brothers with a good friend who’s got a son,” Sam said as he dumped his pre-sorted load into a machine. “Are you saying we need to bring girlfriends next time, or something?”

Dean scowled into the bin of his first machine. Some douchebag had washed what looked like a green shag rug in there. The next machine was better. “I’m just saying, people hear too much crap on TV about weirdos. Sometimes I feel like I need to bring references, or a clean rap sheet, or something.”

A woman, vaguely Native America with beaded jeans, long brown hair, and a leather jacket, came around the corner. Her expression was pretty blank, but he could see laugh lines at the corners of her eyes.

“Hey there,” Sam said, shoving the machine coin slot in with a thunk before he wiped his hands and walked forward with his right arm outstretched. “I’m John Bonham.”

“Jamie,” the woman said, and yes, there was a easy smile with the words.

“Jim,” Dean called, still shoving his clothes in.

“So you’re the new guys. Gonna stay for a few weeks, I hear?”

Sam shrugged. “Our friend is studying the burial mounds, and his son wants to tour the museum.”

“Which one?”

Dean tuned out of Sam’s little speech about the closed penitentiary-turned-tourist-spot and the paranormal museum while he finally got his machine going, but he tuned in again to hear that Jamie worked part-time in the gift shop at the doll museum.

“I can get you a sweet discount,” she said with a wink.

“Dolls,” Dean said. “Not really our thing.”

She shrugged. “I don’t judge.”

The man, who turned out to be her husband, Proud, came around the corner after that, his hands a little wet when they said hello. From there, it was easy to invite them back to their RV after they finished the wash. The couple left together, and Dean thought he smelled a little weed in their wake.

Once they were alone in the building, Sam was on his laptop. “I didn’t realize they were so into museums here. Museums usually take volunteers.”

“Not much else to do around here for a kid. How much you wanna bet they go into the doll museum and stage weird-ass poses for Twitter?”

Sam nodded without really paying attention, and Dean’s phone rang.

“Yeah, what’s up, Cass?”

“Dean, Jack is outside talking to a woman who works at the doll museum.”

“Pretty lady? Leather jacket?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah, that’s Jamie. We’re hanging out at her place when we’re done scrubbing Sam’s panties.”

“Eat me, Dean.”

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Cass?”

“Why would anyone want to go to a doll museum?”

“Beats me, hoss.”

“I thought I would engage her in conversation by asking her about her work, but I find I have absolutely nothing to say about dolls, except that they are a favored object for possession by a mischievous spirit.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna fly. Just ask her how the museum got started, and we already told her about your weird interest in those burial mounds. You can mention that.”

“The Adena Indian burial mounds are by far the most interesting thing here.”

‘Yeah, that’s a good one. Start with that.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Dean nodded and stuck his phone back in his pocket before making his way over to Sam’s shoulder.

“So, remember I told you about Kelle Laffette?” Sam asked.

“The gal who got busted with her boyfriend fooling around at the penitentiary?”

“Yes, and who disappeared only ten days later. William Jolth and Henry Clark both volunteered there, and Penny Levarde had an act at the haunted house they did there last Halloween.”

“Any ties to the three other kids?”

“Not yet.” Sam typed a little faster.

But as it turned out, it was Proud who told them about Ty Johnson’s connection to the penitentiary while they were sharing beers under the stars with him and Jamie. The kid’s father worked there as a janitor.

“Course, he hasn’t done much work there lately,” Proud said, kicking back in a deluxe lawn chair with his motorcycle boots set on the blue cooler they’d brought over. Jamie, Jack, Dean, and Castiel were in chairs of their own, while Sam stood off to the side, looking up. The night sky was fantastic. “In the three weeks since Ty vanished, he’s been driving around, trying to get some sort of clue.”

“Horrible thing,” Jamie said, scratching at the label on her Timberwolf Ale with some little penknife. “Losing a kid like that.”

“He’ll show up soon enough,” Proud said. “Every teenager in this town dreams of thumbing a ride out. He just actually did it.”

“I hope so.” The woman smiled sadly, and then threw the knife with full-armed force.

Dean registered three things at once: the sound of something hitting flesh, the suddenly much bigger size of that knife, and Castiel’s puzzled expression at the wooden hilt sticking out of his chest.

Sam had a gun out and Proud in his sights even as Dean drew a bead on Jamie.

“Cass, you OK?” he shouted.

“Don’t shoot!” Jamie said, her hands in the air.

“I’m fine,” the angel said.

“Give me one reason why not!” 

“I just wanted to cut through the BS!” she said now, half-standing from her chair while Proud sat completely still, his dark eyes on Sam’s pistol. “I mean, you’re Dean Winchester, right? And you’re Sam.” She nodded vaguely toward his brother. “And you’re the angel, and you’re, well, the kid you guys took on that no one knows much about.”

She stared at Cass then, adopting that “trust me” face people tended to get around the angel. “I knew it wouldn’t hurt you. I want to help.”

“You could have found a better way to say it,” Dean said.

“That’s not entirely true,” Castiel said, standing now and walking forward a bit so Dean could easily see him while keeping his gun trained on the woman. Cass reached up and pulled the knife out of his chest, and Dean had to fight off a wince at the memory that invoked. “You thought we might be demons.” The angel looked at the blade, and Dean could see it looked a lot like their own demon-killing knife.

“Well, yeah. I figured, prove you’re Castiel or kill you for pretending to be. Smart move either way.”

“Well, no more smart moves,” Dean said, waving the gun at her just slightly. “And you need to start talking.”

“Can we put the guns down first?” Proud asked.

“No, we’re talking first,” Sam said.

“Look, there’s not a hunter in the country, maybe on earth, who doesn’t know about you guys,” Jamie said, standing up fully, though carefully. 

“So you’re hunters?” Jack asked, having quietly walked over to stand by Sam.

“Not quite,” Proud said, moving nothing but his mouth and eyes. “My White name is Samuel Johnson.”

“Ty’s father?” Castiel asked.

“Yes. With Jamie’s help, I’ve been trying to learn as much as I can about hunting, but neither of us is what you would call official.” Slowly, Proud brought his hand up to his black t-shirt’s collar and pulled it down to reveal a shiny anti-possession tattoo, the red skin around it still healing.

“And you?” Dean demanded, looking at Jamie.

“Proud and I go way back.” She pulled down her own collar to show a much older tattoo right under her collarbone. “I’ve never done more than chop the heads off a few vampires, but when he told me what happened to Ty . . .”

“What did happen?” Jack asked.

“We don’t know,” she said.

“Cass?” Dean asked.

“They do seem sincere now. However, this knife is highly specialized for someone who doesn’t claim to hunt demons.”

“It was my mother’s,” Jamie said. “She was the real deal, but when I was a kid she went up against a demon with yellow eyes. I think you knew him?” She turned from Cass to Dean. “I think you killed him. Thank you for that.”

Dean looked over at Cass, who shrugged slightly, then nodded, and he and Sam put their guns away. Cass, he noted, put the knife in his coat pocket.

“So, answer Jack’s question,” Dean told Proud. “What happened to your son?”

Proud relaxed slightly in his chair, looking up at the stars for a moment. “He called me, told me someone was following him. Then I heard this noise. I’ve never heard anything like that before. And then Ty was yelling about Windigoag.” Proud looked down at his clenched fists. “I found his phone two days later. It was in pieces.”

“Windigoag?” Sam asked. “Wendigos? Isn’t this a little south for that?”

Proud snorted. “Climate change.”

“Dean,” Castiel said, turning to him, and the hunter noted absently that his coat didn’t have a hole in it. Just like last time. “The windigos follow the cold, and it has been unusually intemperate here.”

“You said the phone was smashed,” Sam said to Proud. “How? Big pieces or. . ?” 

“It was pulverized,” Proud said. “I only know it was his because he kept it in this Metallica case, and that just looked a little chewed on.”

“Chewed?”

“Like a dog had been at it.”

“What are windigos?” Jack asked. “And how do we kill them?”

While Sam gave Jack the 411, Dean found his eyes running over Castiel’s chest, making sure nothing was out of order. It was funny. He kinda missed the days the angel wore his tie backwards.

Cass caught his state and frowned at him.

“You OK for real, there?”

“I’m fine, Dean.”

“I’m sure you are; it’s just been a while since, you know.”

“Since someone stabbed me in the chest?” And damn him, but the angel looked slightly amused.

Dean shrugged a little helplessly.

“Look, it’s too late to do anything tonight,” Jamie was saying. “How about we pick this up in the morning?”

“Actually,” Castiel said, turning to her now. “If you tell me where you found that phone, I can do reconnaissance.”

“I’ll go with you,” Jack said. 

“You need to sleep,” the angel told him. “You’re tired.”

“I’ve got the coordinates here,” Proud told him, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Jack, meanwhile, was frowning at his shoes.

Tough it out, kid, Dean thought. You’ve gotta get used to needing sleep sooner or later.

“I’ll do a standard grid pattern,” Castiel said, copying Proud’s information to his own phone. “And then I’ll meet you back here at sunrise.”

“You don’t sleep?” Jamie asked, entirely too curious, as far as Dean was concerned.

“No.” Cass nodded at them, and then strode off with purpose, his tan trench coat fading into the dark as he walked down the unlit gravel road.

“Handy guy to have around,” Jamie muttered. 

Dean said nothing. He hadn’t forgiven her for the knife thing yet. He wasn’t sure he ever would.

They broke up after that, Dean, Sam, and a reluctant Jack going into their RV and taking their assigned beds. Jack got the long couch along the wall. Sam’s gargantuan mass barely fit into the bed in the back, and Dean took the loft. Just to be a dick, he dropped his boots on the floor separately before he got under the covers. Sam snorted at him.

It was when Dean closed his eyes that the knife thing started playing over and over in his head.

It was weird, the way Castiel had walked into his life in that barn. The exploding lights, the shotgun blasts he and Bobby were emptying into Cass’ chest, the excessively calm blue-eyed stare.

And then Dean had stabbed the guy as hard as he could before Castiel reached up, pulled the knife out, and dropped it on the floor without blinking.

Dean had tried to keep his cool, but the whole thing had scared the crap out of him, almost literally.

He kept thinking, Who is this guy? And then he put Bobby down and started talking about being an angel of the Lord.

“Good things do happen, Dean,” Castiel had said then. And it had been so impossible, so absolutely not happening that an angel had saved him from Hell. Dean would have bet his life, hell, his brother’s life, that this weird nerd-creature was lying to him.

But no, Castiel had been an angel, had raised him from Hell. Had been his savior. But then Dean learned angels were a bunch of dicks.

Except for Cass.

When he was alone, like now, and no one else could suspect it, Dean let himself think about what it meant that his best friend was a frickin’ angel, one who had chosen to rebel against Heaven itself to save the world with him and Sam and Bobby. He let himself feel what it meant to him that Chuck, God Himself, had kept putting Cass back together to help them.

And how about this last time? Without Chuck around, Cass had somehow pissed off some celestial keeper of dead angels to come back to them once more, after Dean had grieved him as lost forever. Watching Cass’ body burn had pretty much been the worst moment of his useless life. Getting him back pretty one of the best.

Sure, Cass was back now because of Jack, and that was great. And Castiel and Sam were brothers without blood too, but. . .

Here, alone, under the covers, Dean let him feel for a moment that Cass followed his lead, usually. Cass had not only saved him from Hell, he’d made it clear he would follow Dean back into Perdition itself if Dean asked him to. Just like Dean would follow wherever Cass led, Sam at his side.

It felt pretty damn fantastic, if you wanted to know the truth. Still, it was best not to think too much about how awesome the whole thing was.

And then Dean was thinking about the knife again.

What the hell was Jamie thinking about, throwing that thing at Cass? Sure, he got the whole prove-you’re-an-angel-or-a-demon thing, but what if Cass had just been some guy? Did she ever think about that? No. It was just, “Hey, I’m gonna throw a demon-killing knife at a stranger and see if it sticks.” Lady was crazy.

He saw it go again into Cass’ chest, twice. One time her hand was on the hilt, throwing, and one time it was his own sweaty fist, driving it in and praying it would kill this Thing that had come for him.

Ah, there it was, that phantom tingle Dean’s shoulder got when he thought about Castiel for too long. That handprint scar had freaked him out even before he’d known it was Cass’. Anna had covered it when they’d made love, which bothered him now that he thought about it.

Anna: what a nothing she’d turned out to be. At first, he’d thought she would be a heavenly ally. Then she’d tried to kill his parents. Classic angel dick move.

Cass had saved them again that time, almost killing himself in the process.

God, they owed Cass so much.

And what did Cass owe them? Well, he was hated in Heaven, or whatever was left of it. He hated himself (obviously, horribly, sometimes) for the failures he’d managed. He hated not being there when Jack was born. He hated the death and destruction he’d caused. 

He hated everything, it seemed sometimes, but not him or Sam, who’d led him over that cliff. It boggled the mind.

And then Dean saw the knife again, but this time it was an angel blade, and April the Reaper had killed Cass with it. And then Lucifer too, that total dickhead.

And yet here Cass was again, a damn miracle in an ill-fitting suit and eyes the color of the sky and sapphires.

Dean frowned in the dark. No need to get all fruity about it. But Dean found himself wondering yet again if Cass’ true form didn’t have blue eyes. They were just such a fundamental thing to his personality. Or maybe it wasn’t the color so much as the compassion. What had that little nerd angel said? Castiel’s problem had always been too much heart?

Finally, Dean forced himself to stop obsessing over Castiel’s eyes and tendency to get stabbed all the time. He needed his four hours of downtime.

***

Next morning, they met up in front of the Rambler. Castiel was standing there waiting while Dean and Sam and Jack came out, and Jamie and Proud joined them a few minutes later. All save Cass were holding coffee cups. As a human, Jack hadn’t taken much time at all to get addicted, especially when he put a half-pound of sugar in there.

“I found a trail,” Cass said. “But they may have left it for me to find.”

“A little too obvious?” Sam asked.

“Perhaps. I want to show it to you.”

“Let’s finish our coffee first,” Jamie said, the first sensible thing she’d uttered since they met, as far as Dean was concerned.

“Proud,” Sam said. “Did Ty ever go with you to the penitentiary?”

“Sure,” the man said, looking bone-deep tired in the morning light. Even his new plain black t-shirt managed to look exhausted. “All the kids around here keep breaking into the thing and daring each other to do some stupid-ass stunt. Ty wasn’t no different.”

“So what are you thinking?” Jack asked. “The windigos are connected to the penitentiary?”

“Maybe, but considering the riot and the executions there, it’s more something you’d think to see with vengeful spirits, not ravenous cannibals.” Sam looked at Proud. “Did you see anything supernatural while you were working there?”

Proud shrugged. “Nothing there rests. Bad energy, but nothing more than what you’d expect. Tour groups going around were always talking about seeing things, but I don’t think so. People want something for their ticket money, I guess.”

“You notice anything about the other kids that went missing?” Dean asked.

“Other kids? I only heard about Henry Clark.”

Sam rattled off the other names, but Proud only recognized one.

“I know for a fact that kid left on his own. Billy hated his old man. Left the day he turned fourteen. Even left a note.”

“So his father claimed,” Sam said. “Maybe he just didn’t want to answer questions.” 

Jack explained the multiple disappearances and the two-year time frame.

“That does sound bad,” Jamie said. “So, what? They’re taking kids after they see them at the prison? Do you think they’re hiding out there?”

“Windigos don’t usually live in buildings,” Sam said. 

“Maybe your kid did see a spirit and thought it was a windigo because it’s part of your lore,” Dean suggested.

Proud shrugged. “I told him the stories of the people, but he never seemed all that interested. I tried to teach him that the spirits of the land speak to our hearts, not hide under our beds. Until the night he disappeared, I didn’t think Ty knew a windigo from Freddy Krueger.”

The morning’s sun was making a poor showing, but it wasn’t quite as overcast as the day before. Coffee finished, Dean nodded at the others and set his cup down. Without talking much, they followed Castiel down the road and around to a semi-worn footpath.

“Here was the phone,” Cass said about a quarter-mile into the woods. 

Everyone looked around, then back at him.

“You said the trail was obvious?” Proud asked.

“Considering we’re dealing with the supernatural.” Cass pointed to a bit of ground that looked to Dean like every other bit of ground, and then to a tree branch, and finally to another bit of ground.

Proud saw it first. “Yes,” he said, hunkering down. “That’s the tread from those shoes he had to have.”

“Vintage Converse Chuck Taylor All Stars,” Cass said.

“What, no Nikes?” Dean wanted to know.

“It looks like he was running,” Proud said, then stood up and followed something or other. Cass let the man take lead, which is how Dean found himself walking next to the angel, eyes on Proud and Jamie while Sam and Jack took up the rear.

“So, the windigo or whatever scares the kid, 86es his phone, and the kid takes off,” Dean said.

“Perhaps, but he said there was more than one. It seems unlikely he would escape two or more of them.”

Dean nodded, realizing with an inner groan that he was fighting the urge to check once more that Cass was OK. The angel had probably already forgotten about the stabbing. Dean was being a girl.

Pfft.

Proud stumbled to a halt in front of them, then collapsed to the ground with a red dart sticking out of his neck.

“Dean! Sam! Jack!” Castiel shouted, diving to put his body between the three of them and a half-dozen white faces that had appeared to their left.

Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.

Several darts came at them, all ending up in Castiel’s body as the angel did a sort of herky-jerky dance in front of them while shouting something in Enochian. Everything paused for a second, and then the faces were gone.

“Proud!” Jamie shouted, running to the man’s side.

“Cass!” Jack shouted, though Sam and Dean’s voices were in there as well.

The angel turned to them while looking down at the four red darts sticking out of his chest. Carefully, he pulled one out and sniffed at it.

“A powerful but non-lethal sedative,” he said. 

“Cass, you all right?” Dean asked.

“I’m fine.” He pulled out the other darts and dropped them on the ground. Dean felt like shooting them.

“What about Proud?” Jamie demanded.

“He’s sleeping,” Cass said. “I see no signs of an allergic reaction. We should get him to safety before we pursue the wood sprites.”

“Wood sprites?” Jamie asked.

“Yes,” Sam said, watching as Cass calmly walked over to Proud’s prone form and hoisted him over a shoulder. “There have been several cases of them lately, but usually regarding deforestation or the disturbance of some sacred artifact or landscape.”

“Indian burial ground stuff?” Dean asked, only to be treated to an eye-roll from Jamie.

“Well, I don’t—” Sam broke off and pointed with his eyes to their right.

A single pale face stared at them from the trees.

“Itckk nee taop na whod,” the face chittered.

Cass tilted his head, and then lowered Proud’s body back to the ground.

“Cass?” Dean asked.

The angel ignored him and walked two slow steps toward the pale face.

“Pahr nogaweh?” Cass asked, managing the chitter in his gravely voice.

“Ich ich! Narhol ess thaw abikki ar!”

“Castiel?” Jack asked.

“He’s apologizing for shooting at us. He’s asking for our help. He wants me to come with him.”

“Like hell,” Dean said. 

“Dean,” Cass said with some impatience, turning slightly to give him the blue side-eye. “I will be fine.”

“You’re not going with that thing! Not alone.”

With a sigh, Cass turned back to the sprite. “Urghan it-it itchyah?”

“Itchyah! Pahr nit!”

“He says you can come with me. He guarantees our safety.”

Dean nodded. “Sam?”

“I’ll get everyone back to the park,” his brother said. Then Sam caught and held his gaze. “Be careful.”

Dean nodded again.

“I should go with you,” Jack said.

“No,” Cass said before Dean could. “He’s frightened of you.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Dean, I think we need to hurry.”

“Jack,” Dean said, turning to the kid. “Help Sam with Proud and Jamie.”

“I don’t need help,” Jamie snapped.

“Then you help with Proud too. He looks like he needs all he can get.” He walked over to Cass’ side.

The face disappeared, but Castiel simply walked into a gap in the trees, Dean close behind. After all, he’d just been thinking about how he’d follow the angel anywhere, hadn’t he?

Up ahead, the chittering started back up. A beat behind, Cass translated.

“He says we need to help them stop the evil thing. They only want to protect their children, but children are being sent against them. We have to make it go back to sleep. I don’t think these sprites understand the concept of death, Dean. And they need us to help them because nothing they’ve done so far has helped. They seem to be out of ideas.”

Mercifully, the chittering stopped. A moment later, whatever trail they were following ended as well, and they were standing on the edge of a sort of crop circle, less a clearing in the woods and more a blackened amphitheater.

All around them flitted the sprite guys, insubstantial bodies as pale as moonlight with those same round, white faces, almost like stickmen made of vapor. And in the center of the circle, inside a wooden cage, snarled and clawed several teenagers with familiar faces.

“They’ve got the kids?” Dean asked, hurrying down the slight slope to the cage but stopping well short of the arms that stretched out to him, fingers spread. The teenagers inside, five in all, looked hungry but not gaunt, and their eyes were filmy white, not black. None of them was Ty.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “Pict says these children came at them in the woods and tried to kill them. They locked them up to protect themselves.”

“Pict? That our tour guide?” Dean looked around them. The sprites numbered about thirty, some watching them in the center, some completely into their own little sprite-dance. To his surprise, he was starting to see little differences among them. Pict, float-standing next to them, looked older than some of the others, but he wasn’t sure why.

Above, the forest canopy was gone, replaced by the gray sky.

“Is that why Pict was scared of Jack? Because they’ve been sending kids?”

Castiel turned to Pict and chittered at him for a minute. “Yes,” he said next. “They hold their own children as sacred, so the fact that their enemy sends ‘un-full-growns’ is particularly offensive to them.”

“And so who’s this enemy?”

“Pict isn’t sure, but it comes from the old prison.”

There was another minute of chittering.

“Pict says something disturbed an entity there, something that hates the forest and the people here. Something very old.”

Pict shot a look at Dean, then chittered again.

Cass scowled and chittered back.

Pict seemed to be waiting for something.

Cass sighed and took off his coat.

“Cass?”

“Hold this for me, please, Dean.”

He took the coat and watched as Cass took off his tie and then his shirt, as indifferent to getting half-naked in front of a bunch of wood sprites as most people would be standing in line for a bus.

Dean realized he was hungry. They had some frozen lasagna back at the RV.

Pict leaned in, peering closely at Castiel’s smooth, unscarred chest and stomach. Jimmy Novak must have jogged or something, Dean thought, not for the first time, and done some gym work on his upper body. The guy was no Schwarzenegger, but he was definitely fit.

Dean’s own body would be a network of scars, if it weren’t that every time Cass healed him he went back to the skin he had as a baby. Even the handprint was gone, along with the meat fork scar from his time as Michael.

Cass did sport one section of marks: the Enochian script he’d had tattooed on his skin when he was human to ward himself against angels. Dean thought about Jack’s inability to bear a tattoo. Cass must be using his mojo to keep the marks on his skin.

It was sad, really, that Cass still felt the need to stay invisible from his own damn family—at least, the family he’d had before he and Sam and Jack came along.

Pict slashed a wraith-like hand across Castiel’s chest, leaving a cross-work of red lines.

“Hey!” Dean shouted, stepping forward only to find Cass’ hand on his shoulder, holding him back.

“It’s all right, Dean. He’s showing me a map of the attacks.”

“What? The guy’s too good for a cell phone?” he asked, knowing it was weak. Seriously, that was his second Cass-related heart attack in less than twenty-four hours. His hair was going to go gray.

The red lines did seem to form a sort of map, which Castiel studied until they faded out. Meanwhile, Pict was watching Dean intently.

“He got some sort of issue?” the hunter asked.

Cass chittered at the guy and listened to the response before oddly ducking his head.

“He’s touched. I mean, he’s pleased that you seem concerned for me.”

One of the teenagers, Dean thought it was Henry Clark, snarled extra loudly from the cage. Dean shot him a look, then turned back to Cass.

“Well, yeah. When someone takes a swipe at my friend, I’m not thrilled.”

Pict chittered some more. It almost sounded, somewhat, condescending?

Cass chittered back something with obvious annoyance, and Pict actually threw up his half-there shoulders before turning away to lead them back to the black circle’s edge.

“What was that about?” Dean demanded.

“Pict’s sense of humor is juvenile,” Cass said. “The important thing is that he says he will help us if we can find some way to deal with the entity at the penitentiary.”

“Help us how?”

“He has no idea. But they will do what they can, as long as it’s here in the woods. They have no power elsewhere.”

“Well, that’s comforting.” 

“Meanwhile, he says he cannot release the children to us because they would harm others. However, if we can break the entity’s hold on them, they should revert to their former selves.”

“You ask him about Ty?” Dean asked as they re-entered the woods. He couldn’t help noticing the play of the light on Cass’ back as they passed under the leaves. Seriously, it was kind of weird how unblemished that skin was. He knew at least some of what Cass had been through in his thousands of years, the battles he’d fought, to say nothing of being exploded by Raphael before he’d exploded him back. And then there was the Lucifer thing.

Dean knew a hunter, Petra Sorrinson. The guy had a face half-mangled by a broken bottle in some bar fight. It made him ugly as hell, but there was a dignity about him too, a strength. His face told the world he wouldn’t be stopped by anything. 

And Dean had known Joan Summer before she bought the farm in a vampires’ nest. She’d had honest-to-God tiger claw marks over her right cheek. They’d hooked up one night, and he’d felt like he was having sex with Ms. Tarzan.

“He said he hasn’t seen the boy I described,” Castiel called back, breaking Dean out of pleasant thoughts. “But perhaps it takes time for the entity to do whatever it is he does to the children to turn them into what’s in that cage.”

“Do you think Jack might be in danger?” 

Castiel stopped and turned around, ignoring the inquisitive chitter from Pict. “Yes. We should confine him strictly to the trailer park.”

“Agreed.”

“You need to make him understand, Dean. He’s not to go near that penitentiary.”

He frowned. “So, we’ll tell him that.”

“He listens to you best, Dean.”

Dean put a hand on Cass’ shoulder. “Jack listens to all of us. The last thing we need to deal with is him in that cage. We’ll make him understand.”

The pause after he said that turned awkward for no good reason—that is, until Dean realized he hasn’t put his hand on Cass’ shoulder, but on his unblemished chest, right over where Jamie’s knife had gone.

Pict chittered something fierce while Dean took his hand back. That had been weird, but what was the wood sprite going on about now? And what was Castiel chittering back about with that annoyed look on his face?

“Cass?”

The angel shot him a glare and reached for his clothes, ending the gesture with just standing there, dressed as always. “It’s not important, Dean.”

“What’s not important?”

“I suggest we discuss this when we’re not following a wood sprite out of an enchanted forest.”

Cass turned then and followed Pict out to the footpath, where the sprite promptly faded out. Another quarter-mile, and they were back on the gravel road, the sign for the Varlas Trailer Park in sight up ahead.

Dean went slightly in front of his Cass and stopped, facing the guy dead on.

“OK, no more sprite. What’s not important?”

Castiel looked away, looked down, looked up.

“What’s so damn not important, Cass?”

“The sprites found our relationship confusing.”

“You mean a human and an angel?”

Cass looked tempted by something, then scowled. “It was more the nature of our personal interaction.”

“Meaning?”

“They thought you were my devotee.” 

Dean looked at him. “Is that a word for harem boy?”

Castiel’s lips went thin. “More like a cherished supplicant.”

“Like a harem boy!”

The angel scowled heavily for a moment, then lifted his chin. But there was something in his eyes too. Something hurt, maybe? Then his face definitely got annoyed.

“If you don’t want people to get ideas, Dean, don’t touch me when I have my shirt off.”

Cass spun around then, coat flaring slightly, and made his way down the road.

A few minutes later, Dean followed.


	2. Chapter 2

At least, looking back later, Dean thought he followed. His next certain moment was lying on his back on the RV’s wall couch thing, three anxious faces peering down at him.

“Dean,” Sam said. “Are you tracking?”

Dean managed to blink at him. Then he saw Castiel was holding one of those red darts in his fingers, frowning at it.

“They drwugged me?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cass growled. “But it’s not the same sedative as before. In fact, it doesn’t look like a sedative at all.”

“How wong ha’ I been ou?”

“Four hours,” Sam said. “Proud is still sleeping his version off.”

“And he’s lying in his place like he’s asleep,” Jack said, voice tight with concern. “You were thrashing around and muttering.”

“Wha I say?”

“You were telling yourself to wake up,” Castiel said, frowning even more fiercely at the dart. “And you were asking if you were in pain.”

Dean closed his eyes, moving up sluggish, heavy hands to rub at his face. He felt vaguely disconnected from himself, and something about what Cass said felt like a clue about something.

“The ingredients in this spell are extremely odd,” Cass was saying now. “Gnome’s teeth, the boiled blood of a harpy, and a trace of tetrodotoxin.”

“Pufferfish poison?” Sam asked, the big nerd. “That’s lethal.”

“Yes, but this was less than a millimeter’s worth. It obviously didn’t cause paralysis while Dean was unconscious, though it does seem to have left his muscles somewhat lax.”

Something soft and warm covered his forehead, and he felt better before he realized it was Castiel’s hand.

“Is he going to be all right?” Jack asked.

Cass took his hand away and nodded as Dean worked a pop out of his jaw muscles.

“I believe so.”

“Can you sit up?” Sam asked.

“Think so.” Dean swung his legs off the couch and straightened his back. Thanks to Cass’ angel magic, he didn’t even get a head rush.

But that slight feeling of disconnection remained, and not being an idiot, he tried to describe it to the others. Oddly, voicing his concern made his anxiety go up a bit, but that he kept to himself.

Sam handed him a water bottle, and then he and Jack went to their respective laptops. Castiel went back to studying the dart.

His own curiosity piqued, Dean peered at the three-inch-long red spine as well, but it just looked like a dart to him, tapered a bit thicker on one end, extremely pointy on the other.

“It’s the same dart,” Cass said.

“Same as what?”

“One of the darts I was shot with.”

“Yeah?” The water felt good going down, and he was hungry.

“There is no shortage of oak in the woods. I’m sure they have an arsenal of these darts. Why would a sprite bother to collect the dart from the ground and re-use it on you?”

“Well, hey. They’re wood sprites, right? Big on recycling.”

Cass frowned at him.

“I’m more concerned with why they felt the need to shoot me at all. I mean, aren’t we on the same team here?”

Castiel put the dart in his coat pocket. “Pict assured me it wasn’t anyone from his tribe who shot you, but he also said not all the sprites in this wood are in his tribe.”

“Other tribes?”

“More like rogues, those who ‘commune with the source.’ He says they do as the trees ‘command.’”

“So a tree wanted me shot? What’d I ever do to it?”

“OK,” Sam said from the table at the end of the couch. “I’m not seeing anything on those three ingredients in combination, but we might be able to make sense of them individually. Gnome’s teeth are generally associated with projection of the spirit. Harpy blood is used in a lot of spells for revenge or assault. And tetrodotoxin is, well, most commonly known in the lore for its use in Haitian zombie powder.”

“What?” Dean shot to his feet.

“Really?” Jack asked, eyebrows raised. “Zombies?”

“Not the time, Jack!” Dean told him.

“You’re not going to turn into a zombie, Dean,” Sam said. “Pufferfish toxin causes paralysis and death, and Castiel has said you’re out of danger.”

“Yes, though . . .” The angel shrugged, looking so guilty Dean felt guilty just looking at him. “There is definitely magic still working in you. I just can’t tell what it’s doing or how to stop it. But I can tell it’s not injuring you.”

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out and reverse it,” Sam said.

“Guys, there’s been a report of a break-in at the prison,” Jack said, eyes on his computer. “It was in a section not open to the public. They didn’t find it until they did the rounds before closing up.”

“Was anything stolen?” Sam asked.

“No.” Jack frowned at the screen. “But someone painted three prison cells red.” He looked up at them. “Do we go?”

A few hours later, they had dodged the small-town night security and were looking over the rooms with flashlights. Sam and Castiel had both suggested that Dean should stay in the RV, but hey, the hell with that.

The rooms hadn’t just been painted. This section of the prison was still in a relatively unrenovated state, not part of the tour, and thus full of trash and rodent scat and all the usual joys of an abandoned building.

The red rooms were pristine, without even a whiff of the foulness around them. Dean felt his skin crawl a bit as he crossed the doorway into the first of the three rooms, but nothing happened, and his heart, pounding more than usual, calmed down in a few minutes.

The biggest discovery so far came courtesy of Cass, who pulled the dart out of his pocket to show that the red on the walls was the exact same shade.

“What would wood sprites get out of painting prison cells?” Jack asked.

“Color can be a grounding point for magic,” Castiel said. “This may be a staging for an invasion.”

Dean was inclined to agree, even though Cass tended to see everything in terms of warfare.

“Painting a few wardings on the walls should stop that,” Dean said. They had plenty spray paint in the RV.

“But if the wood sprites are fighting whatever is taking the children,” Sam said, “do we really want to interfere?”

“Pict and his people are fighting the kidnappers. This was done by the sprites who decided I’d make a good pincushion.”

“Pict and his sprites evidently believe whatever is taking the children is residing in or otherwise connected to this penitentiary,” Castiel said.

“The time is strange,” Jack said. “Did you notice? The place is only open for tours on weekends. They could have done this tomorrow, and no one would have noticed until Friday.”

“So you’re thinking they wanted this to be discovered?” Sam asked.

“Or there might be something important about tonight,” Dean said. “I say we stay here until morning.”

“I’ll take first shift with Cass,” Sam told Dean.

“Right, see you in four.”

“You’ll see me in two and a half,” Jack said with a scowl.

Dean held up his hands and then motioned for Jack to go out first so he could shoot the others a look before he left. Jack was trying a little too hard.

Dean was still moving carefully, all too aware of the unknown spell working inside him. Damn creepy. Gnomes’ teeth and zombie juice. Honestly, what the hell was that?

It didn’t help that moving away from Sam and Cass put his teeth on edge, but they were the second best hunter on the planet and a celestial warrior (minus the wings). They’d be fine.

Back at the RV he fell asleep easily enough, rousing only briefly when Jack left and then again when Sam came in. The RV door needed some 3-in-One oil.

“Dean,” Jack’s hushed voice call, waking him. The kid had learned his lesson about not touching him when he was asleep. He waved at Jack vaguely and sat up as much as he could in the loft while Jack padded over to the couch.

Dean wasn’t big on remembering dreams, but what he’d been experiencing in his unconscious had left him a little heated below the belt. On another morning, he’d have been happy to take his little self into the shower for a proper wakeup.

But not this morning. He thought about shape shifters until everything down there calmed down.

It was still plenty dark, and he saw no lights shining in any of the RV windows. Dean got behind the wheel of Jamie’s little Mazda and quietly pulled out for the short drive to the prison.

He found Castiel standing in the second red room, his slightly slouched figure illuminated with a small lantern, just staring off the way he tended to, the way that reminded Dean he was a hundred thousand years old, or whatever it was. He thought suddenly of that night before they took on Raphael and Cass’s assertion that he would just sit quietly until the dawn.

It all still made him grin: Castiel’s terrified face and Chastity’s epic fit.

“There’s been no sign of movement or spell casting,” the angel told him now, turning just slightly to look at him.

“So, nothing at all?”

“A mated pair of kestrels built a nest in the attic storage area.”

Dean snorted, looked around, and then went to check out the other two red rooms and then down and back up the corridor.

“Dean!”

He rushed back in to the room with Castiel, seeing nothing at first but feeling about a twenty-degree drop in temperature. Cass was staring at one of the red walls currently turning slightly pink with hoarfrost.

Dean had his phone out in a half-second. Sam picked up on the second ring.

“Get here now, man.”

“On our way.”

Cass’ blade dropped into his hand, while Dean grabbed the rock salt shotgun out of the bag. Funny, but he’d never seen an angel blade go against a ghost before. He assumed it would work like an iron bar.

The frost spread, and the room grew bone-piercingly cold. Worse, whatever was coming had some serious mojo it was using on him, making his heart race and teeth grind at twice the speed and pressure he should be feeling right now. Or maybe it was that mystery spell. Or maybe they were the same thing.

“Dean, there’s more than one of them,” he heard Cass say.

The crackling came then, the sounds of ice breaking as it built up on the walls and popped from the pressure.

“More than a hundred of them!” Cass called out, barely audible above the rifle-like staccato. “The anger is rabid!”

White vapored poured suddenly from every wall, freezing Dean’s blood.

“Close your eyes!” Cass shouted as he held up his hand to fill the room with light.

Five seconds later, it was pitch dark and quiet.

Dean swayed on his feet.

“Dean!”

“I’m good!” he called out while still blinking stars. He felt a flood of relief, which was weird. He wasn’t sure what was even going on yet.

The spots went away, and he realized there was no light at all. His flashlight wasn’t interested in turning on, either.

A small glow came from Cass’ hand, which he held up to reveal walls that were pure white now, shiny as sour cream.

“What the hell was that?”

“An army. Bloodthirsty and furious. I’ve rarely felt that level of rage.”

“Yeah?”

“Last time, Genghis Khan was destroying the Jin Empire.”

“He really hated those guys?”

“Actually, I was referring to the 53 million Jin.”

Dean cut off the urge to laugh. Cass didn’t tend to exaggerate. In fact, Cass just didn’t exaggerate, ever.

“Millions of vengeful spirits?”

“Or more.”

“How? I mean, I figure this kinda place, there would be a couple hundred pissed-off ghosts, but millions?”

“I’m not sure.” Castiel touched the lantern and got it working again. Then he went to peer closely at the white wall. “Also perhaps it’s not that many entities, but somehow enough to make up the power of that many.”

“And what could do that?”

Castiel stared at the wall, then slumped slightly before turning. “An elemental.”

“A what?”

“Dean!” Sam voice called from down the hall. A few seconds later, he thundered in. Jack—carrying Jamie’s knife, he noticed—was just slightly behind.

“We’re OK,” Dean said. “But Cass had to do his white-out thing.”

“What was it?” Jack asked, panting heavily.

“An elemental.”

“Maybe,” Cass said.

Dean and the others stared at him. “Maybe” wasn’t what Cass was supposed to give them. And then, even as he thought it, a small pulse of shame went through him, a feeling of not being good enough.

Seriously, what the hell?

But then Cass went on: “There couldn’t be enough spirits in that sort of concentration for anything else I know of. If it’s not something new, then it’s an elemental.”

“Which is what?” Sam asked, staring, like Jack, at the white walls.

“We need to leave,” Jack said. “The cleaning crew will be in for the public section in twenty minutes.”

“Is it safe?” Sam asked.

Cass nodded. “I’ve sealed this area from further supernatural incursions.”

Fifteen minutes later, coffee brewing, they were back at the RV, crowding around the table, elbows to elbows. Dean missed Baby something fierce for a minute. He could seriously use a drive out for donuts or something. Anything to get him to settle in his own skin and feel connected to his bones again.

“Elementals are just that: embodiments of elemental forces. The Catholic Church incorrectly identified some of them as Deadly Sins.”

“As in Wrath,” Dean said.

“Yes, and Lust, Greed, and Envy.”

“Sloth, Pride, and Gluttony?” Sam asked.

Castiel shrugged. “There’s no need for an elemental force for the desire to rest, feel good about your accomplishments, or overeat. But wrath, that sort of pure fury, it makes a powerful weapon indeed.”

“Weapon?” Dean asked. “So you don’t think it’s the elemental acting on its own?”

“Elementals don’t act on their own. They are merely forces, used for good or ill. So the question becomes, who is using it?”

“So, we’re thinking it’s the same thing that’s turning the teenagers into monsters?” Jack asked.

“I tell ya,” Dean asked, rubbing his eyes. “This case is making no sense to me.”

A pulse of sympathy and concern went through him. He blew out a breath that ended with his forehead on the table.

“Dean?” Sam asked.

“I dunno. I feel like—”

Sharp knocking on the door cut him off. With a nod to Dean, Sam went to open it, while Dean waved off Castiel’s hovering and went to pour coffees.

Proud and Jamie entered, full of questions and assurances that Proud was fine. In about a half-hour, Sam and Jack had brought them up to speed, and everyone was sipping out of mismatched mugs as they sat at the table, couch, or fold-down chairs.

“An elemental,” Proud said. “A spirit of fury?”

“Basically,” Castiel said, “but without any will of its own. Elemental forces are powerful, but ultimately inactive until someone else uses them.”

“Could this be witchcraft?” Jamie asked.

Castiel shook his head. “I got a sense of rage unleased, not something under a spell.”

“Are you sure?” she pressed, looking doubtful.

Dean pressed down a spike of irritation. “Look, Cass might look like he’s one step up from the mail room, OK? But he knows his stuff. If Cass says it’s not witchcraft, it’s not witchcraft.”

While Proud and Jamie nodded solemnly, and Jamie a little guiltily, Dean felt another of those odd pulses, this time of affection.

“I’m not sure where the elemental is residing,” Cass said. “Usually, gathering up that much force requires a physical receptacle. It didn’t seem to be in the prison itself, but perhaps nearby. The red rooms were clearly meant to allow the force of wrath to enter and quickly, but I still felt the force of it had traveled, if not through space, perhaps through time.”

“I need breakfast,” Dean announced, standing up and luxuriating in a full-body stretch. He looked at Proud and Jamie. “You guys got something to recommend besides Waffle—”

A metric ton of arousal slammed into him, and though Dean didn’t black out, it was close. He ended up on with his hands on his knees, swaying from the force of it as it came and went, leaving concern in its wake.

“Dean?” Sam was asking. “Dean, are you all right?”

“I’m friggin’ possessed,” he gasped.

“What?” Jack asked.

“Something is affecting me, something outside my own mind.” He closed his eyes, breathing in and out for a moment before straightening slowly, carefully. Standing again, he opened his eyes to concern from his brother, son, and best friend, and suspicion from Jamie and Proud.

“Something keeps coming at me, at what I’m feeling.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“I mean, I’m standing there, doing nothing, and suddenly I feel something that’s not me. Or I’m feeling something that is me, but there’s more going on, some sort of boost on what I’m feeling.”

“You’re saying an outside presence or force is affecting your emotional state,” Cass said.

“Yeah. And I don’t like it.”

“Could what’s controlling you be the same as—” Jamie said,

“Hey, nothing’s controlling me, all right?”

“Sorry, influencing you. Could that be what’s taking the children?”

“Look,” Sam said while Dean tried to get himself together again. “We have several things going on right now. Something is abducting and enchanting teenagers to attack the wood sprites, something connected to the wood sprites has cast some sort of emotion spell on Dean, and something is trying to use an elemental to come into the world.” He frowned suddenly. “Cass? If you hadn’t been there to stop it, do you have any idea what that force would have done?”

Castiel considered for a moment, though his eyes never left their inspection of Dean. “I would project that the force of that wrath would have sterilized a fifty-mile radius.”

Jamie and Proud stared at him.

“But,” Jamie said, “that’s thousands of people.”

“Yes.”

The hunter-wannabes absorbed that while Dean reminded himself how lucky they were to have an angel on the team.

“So whatever is using the wrath elemental is going to be looking for the next way to strike,” Sam said.

“To do what?” Dean asked. “We still don’t know what this thing wants.”

“Some of the wood sprites are against it, and some are working with it,” Castiel said, which then spurred ten minutes of explanation to Proud and Jamie about Pict and company.

“So, what do wood spirits want?” Proud asked.

“Sprites,” Castiel told him, “not spirits.”

“What’s the difference?” Proud asked, somewhat haughtily.

“The wind and wood spirits of your people actually represent the forces of Nature in this area, though aspects of the supernatural are intertwined with your legends, much more so than with many other legends of the area. The Chayweh Children—”

“The who?”

“They were a tribe hundreds of years before the Adena, wiped out by a forty-year drought. They worshipped the sun, and so when the rains stopped they believed they were being brought to the Fertile Fields by their Father.”

“But they weren’t?”

“No, it was mostly due to a volcanic eruption in the Arctic, which is probably why your tribe has always viewed the spirits of the earth as hostile.”

Proud’s mouth opened and closed twice.

“In any event,” Castiel continued when the man did not actually speak, “the sprites are not responsible for the effects of the forest, which is how you view wood spirits. They simply live in the forest and thrive off the trees’ welfare. You might consider them somewhat like spiritual campers.”

Proud nodded at him, though slowly.

“The wood sprite tribe led by Pict are peaceful, and so they have captured the youths sent against them, which as we have explained does not yet include your son.”

“Yes.”

“What we don’t understand is the motivation behind the wood sprites who attacked Dean and those who may be working with the elemental force that tried to invade this area through the prison.”

“I would understand if it were just a hundred souls,” Sam said. “Like Dean said, if they were coming for revenge for the way they were treated in prison, it would make sense. The history of the West Virginia Penitentiary does include mistreatment and rioting. But this is much bigger, more powerful. What does this area have to do with that sort of desire for vengeance?”

“Dean,” Cass said. “Is the presence that’s affecting you responding to any of this?”

“Nope. As far I can tell, the whole thing is pretty much random. I mean, I’m super worried one minute, then I’m relieved, then blah blah blah.”

“Let’s not overlook the obvious,” Sam said. “The burial mound here has been around before 150 BC. Something that’s festered that long might have built up that much rage.”

“I believe that sort of thinking is too local,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded, crossing over to get more coffee. A light breeze of affection and arousal wafted through him pleasantly, damn it.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“It’s true that if that elemental force had been unleashed, thousands would have died, but that would not nearly have expended its power. The prison may simply have been chosen as a doorway. The ultimate target may have nothing to do with this place.”

“Oh, that’s just peachy,” Dean grumbled in his newly hot cup. Sam’s doe eyes got him pouring refills all around, which made him feel better about himself than he should.

Damn it, but this wasn’t improving. Dean knew people made decisions emotionally, not rationally. If he couldn’t trust his own reactions to things around him, what good was he?

“OK,” Jamie said. “You closed off the prison as a doorway, am I right?”

“Yes, though they could stage it again,” Castiel said.

“But you didn’t hurt it or stop it, so, it’s probably going to try to break through again,” she said.

Everyone nodded.

“Will it try again with this prison, or will it try someplace else?”

“It would be a poor strategy to attempt to come through the penitentiary again,” Cass said, “considering that whoever is controlling it knows we stopped it.”

“Agreed,” Sam said. “If all that’s needed to bring the elemental force into this world is a doorway weakened by vengeful spirits, it would make sense to pick somewhere else. In fact, somewhere far from here.”

“We need to get back to the bunker,” Dean said. “Check for other missing teenagers, other signs, see if there’s any hint of this thing trying somewhere else.”

“Agreed,” Sam said in a sign of unity that suddenly made Dean feel sentimental. Bigfoot really was the world’s greatest brother. “Can you and Proud stay here and keep an eye on things?”

“Of course,” Jamie said while Proud nodded. “Your bunker’s near Lebanon, right? That’s about thirteen hours, not the end of the world.”

Dean looked at the others, then back at her. “You know where our bunker is?”

She shrugged. “Everyone knows, though not exactly where. Seriously, do you guys really not realize how famous you are?”

“Don’t like the sound of that,” Sam said.

“Well, sorry, but Google Maps.”

“Cass,” Dean said. “Would the wood sprites keep Jamie and Proud informed about what’s going on if we leave?”

“I believe so. I could discuss a means of communication with them.”

“Then that’s the plan. After you set that up, we’ll head back to home base and see if we can figure out the next hotspot.” Dean looked at Proud. “In particular, let’s see if Ty doesn’t show up like those other kids. But if we’re right about this, he may show up wherever Wrath is going next.”

The man nodded. “We’ll keep our eyes open.”

A small wave of pride went through him that Proud so readily followed his lead. Dean rubbed his eyes. Seriously, this was like being goosed with invisible touchy-feely hands.

A few minutes later, Cass and Proud went to go talk with Pict, and Jamie went over protocol with Sam. Dean ended up with Jack, looking over special aspects of the prison that might have made it a preferred launching pad for the whatever-it-was, which included its proximity to something called the Palace of Gold, which the head of the Krishnas had been going to use as a home and now hosted tours.

“I’m confused,” Jack said over a dinner of burgers. “People who have joined this religion are encouraged to give up their worldly possessions, but the leaders of the group put a great deal of emphasis on personal wealth.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Dean said, having gone several hours without some phantom emotion and wondering if maybe the whole thing had worn off. “The idea is to get people to join your cult and give you everything they have so they can meditate in the nude and you can drive fancy cars.”

“That doesn’t seem to make sense.”

“It doesn’t.”

Jack gave him that earnest look with wide eyes.

He shook his head at the kid. “It doesn’t make sense, I promise. Sometimes, people need to believe in something enough to do stupid things. Just let it go.”

“You’re talking about faith,” Jack said.

“I guess.”

The Nephilim nodded. “I understand about faith.”

“Yeah?”

Jack nodded again. “It’s connected to family, to having people you have faith in who have faith in you.” He looked down at the last of his burger, frowning. “If I hadn’t had that with you and Sam and Castiel, I could see doing just about anything to get it someplace else.”

Dean swallowed down a bit of dry burger, this throat sticking on the bread. “Yeah, well, family. People who don’t have it, the world can suck for them.”

Hours later, Castiel had returned with a system in place for Pict to contact Proud, and Dean and Sam had brought in the propane tank and done a last load of laundry. Dean said they would be pulling up stakes in the early morning, and everyone made sure they had each other’s numbers on their phones.

Back up in the loft, Dean dropped his shoes to Cass, tossed him a wink, and lay back on the mattress with a groan. What a damn day.

All hopes that the emotion-goosing spell had gone away, however, were crushed when he woke up with basically the worst morning wood he’d had since his teens.

He didn’t remember the dream at all, except that it had been incredible. Magical hands had been stroking his skin, his chest, his arms, his thighs, and all the while wet, tight heat had been pulling at his dick. It’d been more than blowjob. He’d felt absolutely worshipped, adored, pampered, and treated like a sex toy. It hadn’t just been that deeply pushed pleasure button of sex, not ever of the best hookup ever. He’d felt like a god.

So what the hell? Other than the embarrassment of waking up with a boner the size of a small jet liner, nothing had actually happened to him. The spell he was under was evidently complicated and esoteric, so why do something so difficult just to give him a major wet dream?

In the end, he’d shrugged it off with a quick turn in the shower, screaming a bit into his fist, and kept himself on emotional alert.

They hit the road before sunrise, stopped in Springfield to trade the RC for the Impala, which had obviously missed him, considering the way it fired up and purred with pleasure, and made the bunker by sunset. Nothing happened along the way. The I-72 was as familiar as a hometown, and there was no call from Jamie or Proud and no weird emotional assault, just Jack calling out random ideas from his research in the back seat and Sam debating a few theories about wood sprites with Cass.

He let Sam take a wheel for a few hours and slept without another sex dream, so that was a plus.

Pulling into the bunker’s garage, Dean nodded to one of the Apocalypse World hunters—he really needed to learn all their names—and reminded himself their living space wasn’t quite the private zone he wanted.

And then, damn it, there was that outside emotional assault again, no matter that it was as gentle as a warm bath. His own feelings of home and safety were augmented by a feeling of relief, as though he had tucked a loved one away in a bed or a crib. If for no other reason, he would know the emotion dancing along his nerves wasn’t his because he couldn’t even imagine feeling this way: sexual desire mixed with the pride of a guardian mixed with an overwhelming affection.

He’d never felt that with Lisa or Cassie, which were his go-to romance touchstones. But more than that, he’d never felt this particular type of emotional flavor, as though his own emotions were salt and these feelings were sweet. He could feel a presence behind it, and as much as he wanted to feel invaded and threatened, the sheer benevolence of it all was almost impossible to—what? To resist?

Well, basically, as strong as these emotions were, they didn’t feel invasive or threatening, which meant this magic was perhaps the most dangerous he’d ever felt. How was he supposed to fight against something that was showering him with affection and desire?

“Dean?”

Damnit.

He turned away from his bedroom door only three feet away to see his big, hovering brother hanging there in the hallway. Seriously, would it kill the guy to cut his hair?

At least the beard was gone.

“I can tell the spell’s affecting you, but I can’t tell how.”

“Sam, I promise, I would tell you if I had anything to go on. I just get these little waves of emotion that I can tell aren’t mine.”

“What sort?”

Dean shrugged. This sucked. “Nothing bad.”

Sam looked at him, patiently waiting, damn it twice.

“Look, it’s been nothing bad yet, OK? I’m sure it’s just preliminary stuff, trying to get me off guard or something. So nothing bad yet.”

“And you still feel in control when it happens?”

“Yeah.” Dean took a breath. “Look, I’m keeping as close an eye on it as I can? Anything else happens, I’ll let you know.”

To his disappointment, Sam didn’t look satisfied. “Hey, I know this sort of thing isn’t your strong suit.”

“What? Magic?”

“Emotions, Dean.”

“Hey, I hear ya. But these aren’t my emotions, all right?”

“So you’re totally comfortable talking about how it’s sexual?”

“Ok, seriously, there’s a line here.”

“But they’re not your emotions.”

Dean closed his eyes against the desire to punch his little brother in the face.

“You’re right,” he said instead. “It’s loving, and it’s sexual, and it’s freaking me the hell out, OK? But other than that I got nothing. When I have more, you’ll know all about it.”

Sam nodded and moved like he was going away, but then he turned back.

“Have you thought about giving into it?”

“What?”

“The next time you feel it, maybe welcome it, see if you can’t tell what or who is initiating it. Then we’ll know more about what we’re dealing with.”

That made sense. He nodded. “I’ll give it a try if I can.”

Sam nodded, yawned, shrugged, and walked back down the hall to his room.

Back in his own space—God, this place felt good sometimes—Dean stripped off and slid into clean sheets. It felt good to have a plan, and sleep came readily enough.

Thanks to his previous experience with dream walker, he was ready when the dream came, even imagining Ruby’s knife in his pocket, ready to take on all comers.

First came basic feelings. There was again the heat along his skin. Good, he knew about that.

Then came something new.

Something impossibly soft wrapped around his shoulders, around his waist, around his legs and ass and whole body. And he was cocooned in love.

It was good that his dream brain couldn’t reject how stupid that sounded, because, yeah, that’s exactly how it felt, and if he’d been remotely conscious he wouldn’t have allowed the thought for a second.

But yeah, cocooned in love. Swaddled in adoration.

 _Forever_.

That was new. The voice was completely unfamiliar, not really like a voice at all as much as just a thought, yet it was like his soul recognized it, welcomed it.

That was the worst part of this spell. It knew him.

There was a peppering of heat on his body. Starting with his chest, then his arms down to his hands. Each finger was kissed in turn. Then something decidedly like a tongue licked the insides of his knees, and then there was a soft kiss right on the tip of each of his ten toes, suddenly playful, like a long-time lover would do.

Man, he wanted this thing to suck his cock.

And even as he was thinking—as much as dream-him could think—that maybe that wasn’t such a good idea, a warm, wet, incredibly talented mouth took him inside.

And that was basically all she wrote.

He woke up with his heart pounding and his body buzzing with all-too-real afterglow. Standing up, he stripped off his now-gross jeans and briefs, and fell back naked on the sheets.

Seriously, what the hell?


	3. Chapter 3

What could possibly be the point of casting a spell on him to give him a phantom lover?

And the more he thought about it, the more it seemed right: the spell was making him think he had some of sort admirer/lover out there, slipping into his dream to sex him up.

So? And? What?

When the spell wasn’t actively working on him, he felt fine, totally normal. Obviously, the only point of such a spell would be to neutralize him. How was this supposed to do it?

Dean’s brain started ticking over. Whatever had done this spell on him was also behind the incursion on the prison. But Dean hadn’t done anything there. Castiel had. He’d stopped the elemental invasion all on his own.

Was this spell on him somehow supposed to hurt Cass?

Now, that was an idea. He and Sam and Jack, especially Jack, had emotional ties to Cass, and vice versa. Was this thing also going to shoot Sam and Jack with one of those darts? Was emotionally compromising them going to screw up the angel on their team?

There was a weird thing about Cass when they went up against people or whatevers. Most of them made a point of talking down to him, calling him “Halo” and “the angel in the dirty coat,” and whatever else they could come up with. He was still pissed at Ephraim for his crap talk at the diner.

But Dean was onto them. When you met up with a gang, you sassed the most powerful one first if you could spot a vulnerability. Castiel had thrown his lot in with humanity, and that made him an easy target. But it was to their peril that people forgot Cass had once taken over Heaven—in fact, he’d done it twice, and the second time he hadn’t been full of souls. And the guy had somehow managed to be the only angel to come back from The Empty.

Frankly, Cass was a bad-ass in nerd clothing, and anyone who forgot about that was begging for a beat-down.

But even as Dean decided Cass had to be the target, he still couldn’t see the sense of it. How was this spell on him supposed to be an attack on Cass?

Dean could totally understand if Jack had been abducted and made into one of those demon-teens. That would have thrown Cass off his game something fierce.

In fact, that might be the next move, as he’d worried about before.

He nodded to himself alone in his room. Yes, Jack was absolutely in danger.

Dean put on his robe and took a shower, grateful the hoard of AW hunters kept out of their sleeping area, and then dressed for the day.

One of the better things about the crowd now living in their bunker was breakfast, which was basically a two-hour buffet while everyone woke up. Bonny and, uh, that guy whose name Dean needed to remember were damn fine cooks, and Dean nodded to people as he got coffee, juice, pancakes, and bacon like he was at a three-star hotel.

Cass came in at some point, and considering his recent thoughts Dean was unsurprised to watch some people back out of his way in awe and others basically ignore him. Cass was proof that eventually anything could become commonplace.

The angel sat across from him. “Proud says no new teens have been abducted or have appeared to attack Pict. There’s been no sign at all of Ty and no activity at the prison.”

Dean nodded, wondering what it would take to get grits added to the breakfast menu. Then he explained his worries about Jack, repeating a few ideas when Sam joined them.

“I wish we’d studied the people in the cage a bit better,” Sam said, “to get an idea what sort of magic we’re dealing with.”

“It was a simple mind-control spell,” Castiel said. “It could be done by a witch, a powerful sprite, or several other entities. I could sense nothing beyond a single-minded desire for violence. If we can find whatever enchanted them, we should be able to break its hold over them.”

Dean grinned. Cass was the best, honestly.

“So, Jack and I have set up a monitoring network for weak spots, places where vengeful spirits or other wrathful forces might attract another incursion,” Sam said.

Dean nodded, thinking Sam was pretty much the best too, and finished off the last of his toast. He brought his dishes to the sink with a wink at Bonny and what’s-his-face. A tiny bit of joy ran through him for no reason. It occurred to him that he should probably log the spell’s episodes, and he pulled out his phone.

He had a voice mail from Mary, and throwing up an index finger at the Sam and Cass, he listened to her basic check-in. He texted back that all was well for now. She and Bobby were hunting some spirits in Vermont. More power to them.

They ended up crowded around Jack’s laptop. He’d done an impressive spreadsheet on all manner of signs related to prisons, Native American burial mounds, Krishnas, paranormal museums, and red rooms, which had impressively found nothing.

“That makes sense,” Castiel said, his right hand resting on Jack’s left shoulder. “They’ll need some time to regroup.”

“I’ve set the program up to sound an alert if two or more factors are involved,” Jack said.

“You did good, kid,” Dean said. “Meanwhile, we’ll contact all the hunters out there, see if they can spot anything.”

It came as no surprise to anyone that nothing blipped on the radar that day. Sam spent the time wrangling his hunters. Dean trained with Jack on basic dirty hand-to-hand and had three more episodes: one erotic, two purely affectionate.

Or maybe four. He got irritated at nothing for a moment, but that just might have been about needing to make a beer run.

That night, he made a sort of ceremony about going to bed. He lingered in the shower, which felt great. He toweled off and remade his bed with fresh sheets. He got into clean boxer-briefs and an AC/DC t-shirt like he was going on some sort of dreamland date. And then he laid himself down and snuggled into his pillow (checking that the .45 was there).

Despite all that, or maybe because of it, it took a while to fall asleep. But eventually he was there.

God, it was warm.

The good kind of warm. “Under the covers when it’s cold outside” warm, and a warm body pressed up against him warm. Incredibly soft lips—also warm, check—pressed tenderly against the back of his neck, the stubble slightly—

Dean opened his eyes. The hell? Stubble?

A wave of revulsion went through him, almost leading him to puke over the side of the bed. Sitting up, he took in deep breaths and forced himself to calm down.

Some wood sprite dude was doing this to him?

No wait, that didn’t make sense. Sprites didn’t have stubble.

His stomach settled a bit. OK, so not a wood sprite. So what then? He knew jack and squat about elementals, but he was guessing they didn’t have stubble either.

And it wasn’t just the stubble. That body pressing against his was decidedly human and male.

Well, if the sprites thought shooting him with a dart that made him dream about a dude in the sheets was going to bench him, they had another think coming. He liked the ladies, but he wasn’t a jerk about it. A male admirer/whatever: it was a little outside his personal comfort zone, but he wasn’t going to faint over it.

With a somewhat righteous snort, Dean laid back down in bed, rolled over, and pulled the covers up to his chin.

OK, so he was back in the weirdly, wonderfully warm bed with soft lips in a stubbly face kissing the back of his neck. It wasn’t really his thing, but he could roll with it for now. In fact, he turned over, making sure his eyes were open wide, needing to see whatever was cuddling with him.

But instantly that pair of soft, full lips was on his mouth, and it was like he was being completely re-introduced to the concept of kissing. This wasn’t romance. This wasn’t just making love. This was being adored, worshipped. That feeling of being like a god was back, and his soul was flying.

Rough hands, hot now against his skin, were running down his sides, squeezing his ass, trailing fingertips over this thighs. He tried to open his eyes again, but it was all just so damn good that he just wanted to feel it without distractions.

For a moment, he was comforted. It was an understatement to say he’d had plenty of good sex, even great sex, in his life. What he was feeling right now, as sexual as it was, wasn’t about bodies or heat or that perfect click where everything was moving right. This was magic.

And love. Oh man, he felt freakin’ cherished.

Tender kisses now were making little patterns on his neck. He’d spread his legs wide to accommodate the heavy, warm, delicious body on top of him. His feet had reached up to tangle around strong legs. A taut stomach pressed down on his cock, which was about as hard as it ever got, maybe harder, and leaking like an ice-cream cone next to the sun.

And that was the craziest part: even with his eyes closed, everything was light and joy. There was a sort of blue tint to everything behind his eyelids. When the body on top of his undulated, it sent blue fireworks and electricity along his veins.

“Dean,” the voice from before said, resonating in his bones.

And without a thought, he spread his legs wider, offering himself up, wanting nothing more than to feel more of the creature pleasuring him.

There were hands gripping his ass harder, and then, oddly a sort of disconnect as one finger slipped behind. A sex partner or five had fingered him during sex, but this wasn’t like that at all. The hands were so clearly not a woman’s.

This was a dream, and dreams needed memories, needed prior information for their construction. This was suddenly new territory, new ideas, and his unconscious had no idea what to do next.

In the glitch of that moment, Dean finally forced his eyes open to see the man on top of him, dark head thrown back but slit-open blue eyes still watching, a vast shadow of wings behind him making a grand, preening display.

“Cass?” he demanded, and then he came.

Waking sucked. Big time.

At a guess, it was around 4 a.m. The mess in his boxers was cooling rapidly, and his heart was thundering. He was sweating like Sam in a sauna, and, seriously, what the tap-dancing hell?

Cass was his phantom lover?

His brain ticked off the possibilities even as he threw his underwear across the room.

One: the wood sprites had re-used that dart from Castiel and shot him with it to make up a spell where a false Cass was joining him in wet dreams.

Two: the wood sprites had re-used that dart from Castiel and shot him with it to make him feel what Castiel felt.

Three: nope, no three.

His brain next went through a sort of matrix, comparing all his emotional assaults with Cass: relief, guilt, affection, concern, love. He’d been standing up in the RV and stretching in front of his friend that first time desire had hit him. He’d been in danger with Cass when anxiety almost overwhelmed him.

The more he replayed the past few days, the more it synched up.

And only when he felt confident about that did the penny drop. Cass was attracted—no, screw that. Cass was in love with him.

Holy crap.

That incredible adoration, that worship he’d felt, that was Cass. Friggin’ Cass.

No. No, he realized. Not possible. This was some sort of wood sprite magic. Yeah, sure, the emotions felt real, but that’s why they called it magic, right? He and Cass, they were brothers, almost closer than family, but they weren’t about to go on dates and dance at the prom. And Cass was an angel, for Pete’s sakes, junkless and not really male or female or whatever.

The one time Cass’d had sex, he’d been basically human. Though he’d almost (sort of) had sex with that Chastity chick, and he was an angel then, and adorably terrified, which was—

No. Cass wasn’t lusting after him. It was ridiculous. Cass was thousands of years old. Cass was a freakin’ angel, Warrior of God.

No, it wasn’t possible, Dean decided, and then spent most of the rest of the night staring at the ceiling. A little before what felt like dawn, however, he felt back asleep.

And phantom Cass blew him, and he basically came all over himself once more.

The next morning, he made a bee-line for the angel in question. Trying to talk business with Cass was a little mind-blowing anytime, considering what he was, but the talk was doubly awkward when Dean had spent the night dreaming of said angel demonstrating divine grace with a flexibility unknown to mankind, not to mention an ability for suction that rivaled a Dyson upright.

It didn’t help that Castiel’s stuck-on-five-o’clock shadow and bed hair would basically scream sex on anyone, let alone his best friend/celestial wavelength of angelic intent who’d once pieced his body and soul back together after busting into literal Hell to get him back.

In fact, everything about Cass was literal. He was a literal miracle, the literal best friend anyone could have, a savior and a warrior, favored of the Almighty, and a being who had allowed him and Sam to save the world.

It was really, really inappropriate to be fighting off a boner while standing in the Men of Letters bunker while said Celestial Savior was helping Jack and Sam talk strategy in front of a bunch of Apocalypse World hunters and his own damn mother.

It made no sense. Only a few hours ago Dean had looked at Castiel and felt nothing but affection for a friend, for family. It was ridiculous that now Cass looked hot. Dean reminded himself that he was enchanted, but it was still creepy and awkward. A switched had been flipped, and now everything Cass was doing felt like something straight out of porn.

“We need to talk,” Dean said, watching as everyone in earshot turned in surprise.

“Dean?”

He nodded, jerked his head back toward his room, and turned. Cass would follow, he knew that.

He also knew this might be the last time he would ever feel that certain about Cass, about how he would react. The thought left a hole inside him the size of a fist.

He walked back into his room, held the door open for Castiel, and then closed it. The outside world really didn’t need to know about this conversation.

“Dean?” The gravelly voice was thin, uncertain. It actually hurt a little to hear it.

He looked at dark hair, blue eyes, high cheekbones in a round face, and that absurd trench coat that Dean had once carted around in a series of stolen cars because he wanted to give it back to the guy when he showed up. Because keeping that coat in the trunk meant Cass wasn’t really dead.

How many times had Cass come back for them? How much did they owe him? And now Dean was going to do nothing but humiliate the guy.

“Cass.”

Castiel did little head-tilt thing, and Dean just felt like nine different types of garbage.

“Have you gotten insight into the spell cast on you?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah,” he said, grabbing the question like a rope out of the pit. “I think so.”

“And?”

“And I need to know something.”

“What?”

“Something important.”

“I sensed that.”

He looked into that open, trusting, angelic face. Once he said the following words, that face would probably never look at him that way again, ever.

“Cass, I’m sorry. I need to know.” He swallowed and winced against the pain of it, all while his family waited, eyes so open and blue. “Are you in love with me?”

Castiel frowned at him. “Yes.”

“I don’t mean—I’m not asking if you love me. Are you in love with me?”

The angel shrugged. “Yes, Dean.”

Dean blinked at him two or three times.

“I thought you knew that,” Castiel said next, his face still his usual face. “I understand you don’t feel the same way, and I rejoice in our familial relationship, but surely you realized I’ve been in love with you for some time now?”

It was like Dean’s brain just sort of seized up. Nothing was coming out. Not a thought, not a word.

“Dean?” Castiel asked, stepping forward with concern. “Are you all right?”

The words came out on their own. “You’re in love with me.”

“Yes.” Castiel nodded, still overtly concerned. “Does that offend you? I did think you knew.”

“Offend?” He was just sort of grabbing at words from the air now.

“I would never act on it, Dean. I thought you realized. I know this vessel isn’t . . .” Castiel patted at his body a couple times. “I know your sexual orientation precludes your interest in Jimmy Novak’s body, and I confess I have thought about how different things might have been had my vessel been female, but the acceptance that you and Sam and now Jack have given me, it’s made other considerations almost moot. I would never presume—oh.” And now Castiel’s face went through something like the contortions Dean had been expecting. “I see. The wood sprites’ spell on you. It’s connected?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean managed. “I think so. Yeah.”

“These phantom feelings, emotions coming at you that aren’t yours, you think they’re mine?”

Dean nodded. Then he shook himself. What? He was going to turn into a big nothing while his best friend was going through this crap?

“Cass, sometimes during the day, and when I go to sleep in particular, I feel, well, loved.”

Cass nodded, close to smiling. “That would make sense.” He frowned again. “But I had no idea.” He pulled the red dart out of his pocket. “Now I understand. They mingled our blood in the spell, forcing my emotions on you.” Those blue eyes came up to meet his, slightly shamed. “I had no idea. Considering how I feel about you, I can only assume you’ve been under assault since it happened.” The angel straightened against his habitual slouch for just a moment, and Dean watched his eyes flash that electric blue of angel mojo.

And something went away inside him.

Castiel nodded. “I’ve taken care of it.”

“Taken care of what?”

“My emotions. They should no longer affect you.” Cass tilted his head again. “Any idea why the wood sprites who enchanted you would think this spell would be to their advantage?”

“You’re in love with me?” Finally, part of Dean’s brain had caught up.

Castiel frowned at him again. “I said that.”

“Yeah, but, you’re an angel.”

“Yes.” Castiel’s head turned so his blue eyes were looking at him sideways.

“You’re, like, a soldier of God, and stuff.”

“I still have feelings, Dean. I thought you knew that.”

“I know.” He looked around his stupid bedroom for a minute. “But seriously, I mean, me?”

“You what?”

“You’re in love with me, seriously? Me?”

Castiel’s familiar I’m-done-with-this expression made an appearance. “Why not you? I rebelled for you and for your cause. I’ve seen you give everything of yourself over and over for your beliefs. I’m seen you be almost unbelievably tender and kind. I saw your soul in Hell, and it was beautiful, uncorrupted even there. I felt blessed to save you, and you’ve done nothing but show me the best of humanity ever sense. Why wouldn’t I fall in love with you?”

“But I’m, I mean, I’m . . .”

“Dean.” Castiel’s face had moved on to exasperated. “When an Angel of the Lord finds you to be worthy of love, perhaps you should believe them?”

Dean had nothing to say to that, but he managed a nod.

The angel nodded back. “So, the spell was making you feel what I feel, but that should be over now. We should be good to go once we have an idea where the elemental might try to enter this realm again.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll let Sam know we’ve neutralized the spell against you.” Cass smiled slightly. “Without going into specifics, of course.”

“I appreciate that.”

Cass nodded again, shot him an understanding look, and walked out the door.

Dean ended up sitting on the foot of his bed.

It wasn’t just that Castiel said he was in love. With what he knew about humanity, he could have been mistaken, or at least, Dean could tell himself the angel was mistaken.

But what he’d felt, the intensity of it, the reverence of it, these were all so outside his own experience that Dean felt like the one lacking experience and understanding.

Cass felt _that_ for _him_?

Dean found he was rubbing at his chest. Now that Cass had ended the spell, a warmth and worth inside him he hadn’t even realized had been growing was gone. He felt sort of cheated, if not outright robbed.

Dean shook it off. He had no right to that feeling. Give it a little time, and he’d feel fine again. Whole.

But how had Cass managed to be so open about it? And how in the world had he thought Dean already knew how Cass felt?

But maybe that was just how angels loved, when they loved. Cass had said once he and Dean had a better “bond” than he and Sam did, but probably after all this time it was a little too close to call? Maybe if Sam felt what Cass felt for him, it’d knock him on his ass too.

Dean frowned, not liking the idea of Cass wanting to get his little brother naked. But then, there was Jack, right? Cass loved the kid, and Dean knew there was zero sexual stuff there. Maybe the “bond” thing was just a sex thing, or maybe Dean’s own liking for sex was affecting things. Like, Cass was transmitting love, and he was receiving it as sex.

By the time he left his room, Dean couldn’t say he was any calmer, but his stomach was empty, and his brain needed coffee.

Oddly enough, catching sight of Castiel in the library left him cold, or at least no warmer than usual. But he guessed the spell had been making him feel things he didn’t really feel, which he had to admit was a relief. As much as he loved sex, a man looking at forty was in a bad position to be considering changing teams.

But then he stopped feeling relieved. His nose buried in a coffee cup, he realized he hadn’t felt “nothing” before the spell when he looked at Cass. He’d felt stuff like affection and a sense that the angel belonged with them, that he was part of what made up “home.”

As casually as he could, he made his way back into the war room, where Cass and Sam were looking over Jack’s shoulder while he entered more things into this spreadsheet, getting their opinions on what might be relevant.

Yup, looking at Cass felt like looking at a stranger. Sam looked up and flashed him a general smile, and that felt just like a smile from his little brother should, and then looking at Jack made him miss that Colt more than ever. It would make him feel a lot better having it to protect the Nephilim currently without his grace.

He looked over at his mother and Bobby, talking strategy, and felt his connection to both. He even felt a sort of general sense of camaraderie for the hunters running around under Sam’s general direction.

But looking back at Cass: nothing. The guy felt like less than a stranger, less than a blank, even. Seriously, if someone showed him a photo of a sofa, he’d feel more than what was going on inside him now.

The nerdy little guy could be quite the liar when he needed to, and come to think of it Cass had never actually said he broke the spell. Before Dean could march over the and demand an explanation, however, Jack’s computer bleeped.

Good old Mansfield Reformatory in Ohio had reported a break-in. Some “probably college kids” had ducked security and painted three cells red.

So they piled back into Baby and hit the I-72 again, on track to get there in twelve hours, which meant quite a while before dawn.

“I don’t get it,” Sam said when it was clear they were going to meet their deadline, barring some big traffic problem. “Why pick a location we can most likely get to to stop their invasion?”

“They might be trying to distract us,” Jack said from the back seat, Castiel unnaturally calm and quiet beside him. “The enchantment on Dean that Cass broke, having us drive all over the country: they might be trying to wear us down.”

“Yeah, about that.” Dean shot a look at the rearview mirror. “Cass didn’t break the spell, did you?”

“I’ve nullified it.”

“Huh?” Sam asked. “What does that mean?”

“It means the spell will be ineffective for as long as it takes us to remove it.”

“How’d you do that?” Jack asked.

“It’s irrelevant,” the angel answered flatly.

Everyone in the car could damn-near feel the frown on the kid’s face.

“Hey, Robocop,” Dean snapped. “Whatever’s going on with you, don’t be taking it out on Jack.”

“My apologies, Jack,” Cass said just as flatly.

“What going on?” Sam asked.

Dean opened his mouth, and then closed it. Castiel’s feelings toward him weren’t his secret to share.

“Look,” Dean said finally. “Those who sleep and aren’t at the wheel, I suggest a little nap time.”

A mixed stoic/sulky silence followed.

A few hours later, after he’d parked the Impala, and they all made it the rest of the way on foot, Dean found himself wondering if it said something about America that so many of its old prisons looked like palaces. The Queen of England could walk out the front door, lit up as it was like awaiting a party, and he wouldn’t be surprised.

Despite the presumed attention from the so-called break-in and the painted cells, security at the place was still laughable. In short order, the four men stood in the central red cell, waiting for a drop in temperature.

He looked over at Cass, standing there like a wind-up toy. Obviously, the angel hadn’t broken the wood sprites’ spell, but had instead cut off his emotions. He’d used angel mojo to do it, which decidedly pissed Dean off. Seriously, the Castiel he was looking at now might as well have been the guy who showed up in the barn. It felt like he’d lost over a decade of his life with Cass, and for what? A couple wet dreams? Was some rescued underwear supposed to be worth looking at Jimmy Novak’s unanimated meat suit?

Dean focused on the task at hand. The prison felt downright creepy, even worse than the last place. It was great having Sam there, worse having Jack. Hardly for the first time, Dean found himself wishing Jack could just have a bit of his grace back, just enough to make him a little less vulnerable.

Cass wasn’t even looking at the kid, just staring at the wall. Dean fought off the impulse to punch him in the face.

And then he realized his toes were numb.

The ice-crackle started up on the walls again, but then a dark pulse went through the cell, and Dean found himself face-down on the concrete, tasting blood. The dark force pushed him down harder, suffocating him.

“ _Dean!_ ” he heard and felt. Oh, God. He felt it: fear, concern, protectiveness, anger, and a few other things as well, slamming into him even as the pressure over his body eased and his lungs worked again.

“Close your eyes!” Castiel, or maybe Jack, yelled, and the world went whiteout-hot again. The fire burned cold next, and Dean felt a surge of power, like being a conduit for pure lightning, and after that came the satisfaction of vanquishing an enemy and a job well done.

“Cass,” he hissed into the bloody concrete below his mouth, before everything went dark.


	4. Chapter 4

Considering that his next moment of awareness brought a now-familiar sensation of being wrapped in love and comfort, the ensuing transition to being awake was surprisingly easy.

For one thing, he could clearly hear the rumble of the Impala, low and untroubled, cruising down a well-paved road. He also heard Sam talking, something about directions, and then Jack answering.

But more than that, he felt the warmth of the arms holding him against a solid chest, and he smelled the leather of the seats and the oddly earthy-sweet smell that was Castiel.

Whenever it was that Jimmy Novak had put on his coat and said yes to being Cass’ vessel, he must have been wearing a little cologne, or at least a quality aftershave. It was blessedly pine-free and blended nicely with his own scent. But Dean thought just maybe Cass had his own fragrance as well, a little something of heaven with a touch of lightning.

“Dean?” Cass asked quietly, and a nudge of anxiety came with it. “How are you feeling?”

Slowly opening his eyes, Dean confirmed he was in Baby’s backseat with Sam at the wheel, Jack riding shotgun, and Cass holding him up.

“Fine,” he said, though his throat felt dry and his voice did him no favors in the lucidity column.

“Dean,” Jack called from the front, turning around to look at him. “How’s your face?”

“My face?”

“It broke your nose, your jaw, and your cheekbones, like it was trying to crush your face in.”

“It?”

“The elemental was accompanied by a presence, something new since the last time. I wasn’t prepared for it,” Cass said while Dean endured another sweep of guilt and shame. “It attacked you before I could counter it.”

“And then you fixed me right up. Thanks, buddy.” Dean didn’t really want to sit up, but he did and rocked over to his side of the seat, Cass’ hands helping him regain his physical autonomy until they were quietly withdrawn. He felt around his face and made himself smile. “See? Good as new.”

“Castiel kept Wrath from coming into the prison,” Jack said. “Just like last time. And the walls turned white again.”

“How long was I out?”

“Five hours,” Sam said. “Now you’re up, we’re going to stop to eat in the next town.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Dean got a few more details over burgers. Once Cass had burned out the elemental’s portal, he’d run over to Dean and healed him. Assured that Dean would be all right, they’d waited until dawn to slip out of the prison and get out of town. Nothing else had occurred.

Interestingly, it wasn’t just Cass who’d felt the presence that had attacked Dean. Sam and Jack both described feeling something malicious, a sort of scheming hatred in addition to the elemental rage. Worse yet, the hatred had been aimed at Cass.

“I could feel how much it wanted to destroy him,” Jack said.

“It was intensely personal,” Sam said.

A contemplative silence followed during which, Dean noted, no one asked why the presence had attacked him instead of Cass directly. Was he somehow the last person here to know how Cass felt about him?

No. Dean popped a fry into his mouth. There was a line between love and being in love, but that wasn’t the point now. Cass had shown his love for Dean a hundred times. The desire and the romantic stuff, that wasn’t important with this thing. Cass had fallen for Dean, as more than one angel had pointed out, in every sense of the word. Dean knew Cass would sacrifice himself for him, for Sam, for Jack, without hesitation. An attack on any of them would be an attack on Cass. No one needed to spell it out.

But Dean couldn’t help thinking about what Cass’ love felt like, the sweet, warm strength of it. When this was all over, he and his best friend had a major talk in store.

Dean realized he was scowling. The feelings of love and self-sacrifice went both ways. If something out there wanted Cass, it would have to go through him first. Dean knew he was important as far as being a cosmic butt monkey, but Cass was one of the world’s last few angels and the only one ever who didn’t have his head up his ass. Dying would suck, sure, but Cass had to stay alive. The world needed him.

“And you?” he asked the angel in question. “Did it feel familiar? Could you feel what’s after you?”

“No,” Cass said, looking down at the untouched burger he was waiting to trade for Dean’s cleared plate. “Or rather, something was familiar about it, but I can’t place it.”

“What? A feeling? A smell? What?”

“I don’t know.” Cass frowned harder, to the point he was making that poop face again. “Something old, something from a long time ago.”

“What, an angry dinosaur?”

Blue eyes frowned at him. “I never interacted with the dinosaurs, Dean.”

“But you saw them?” Jack asked, eyes wide. “Did they look like the dinosaurs in _Jurassic Park_?”

“No. Velociraptors and T-Rexes had feathers, and they didn’t roar like that.”

“Back on topic, people,” Dean said. “Is the presence maybe somebody you knew back in the day?”

“No.”

“But it feels like a person,” Sam said. “It has a purpose, a personality?”

“No.”

All three of them looked at Cass, who realized he was being stared at and shrugged.

“It felt familiar in the way that earth’s gravity feels familiar.”

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“Dean,” Sam said with a frown, then looked at Cass. “How long ago do you think it might have been since you encountered it?”

Castiel was silent for a moment while the others chewed their food and waited.

“I remember many things,” he said at last. “I remember the earth before there were humans, before Neanderthals, before mammals. Many species went through the process of becoming apex predators, only to die out due to climate changes or other shifts in their habitats. If you recall my telling you, I was captain of the garrison watching over earth.”

“You said it was boring,” Sam said.

“For the most part, yes. But there was an incident during the Devonian period, when amphibians first appeared.”

“Amphibians?” Dean asked. “They wanted something?”

“No, it wasn’t from them. We didn’t know what it was; we never found out. I was part of the flight led against it, and we kept it from coming here.”

“And it’s the same thing now?”

“I don’t know. It does feel similar. It might be.”

“Cass, just how old are you?” Sam asked, eyebrows raised.

“It depends on how you define existence.”

“Eyes on the prize, guys,” Dean said. “If something has been gunning for Cass for that long, we’ve got some serious work to do.”

“It may not have been that personal. I might simply have been the only angel there, the only being old enough to trigger its memories.”

“Or the only thing in the room that could deal with that sort of power,” Sam said. Then he shrugged. “It did feel personal, though.”

“Agreed.” Castiel sat up slightly, shoulders squaring off. “Dean, I’m low on power at the moment, but when I regain full strength, I’ll be able to nullify the—”

“The spell? What? By turning yourself into robo-Cass again? No, thank you.”

Cass looked bewildered. “The alternative is to have you keep experiencing my emotions.”

“That I can deal with. You acting like a mannequin? No.”

Castiel frowned but didn’t answer.

Sam took first turn in the Impala back on the I-72, Dean snoozing in the passenger seat. Then Jack took a turn while both Dean and Cass watched carefully, and finally Dean pulled Baby into the bunker’s garage.

By some miracle, nobody back home was on fire or otherwise about to die, and Dean took his tired ass to bed.

His dreams were untroubled.

Next day, Sam sent three hunters out for a vampire nest, and Jack continued his spreadsheet masterpiece. The angel in the bunker proved surprisingly elusive, but Dean hunted him down after lunch.

“Cass, can we talk?”

The dark head of hair and blue eyes turned to him reluctantly, but there was an air of resignation there as well.

“Of course, Dean.”

Dean didn’t want to go back to his bedroom, so they somehow ended up in the dudgeon, door closed, needing the privacy, probably.

“Cass, I’m getting a little zap of your feelings about once an hour.”

“Dean, I’m so—”

“No, Cass. That’s exactly why I want to talk. I can feel your affection and stuff for me, and that’s fine. What’s not fine is all the guilt and shame and garbage that’s coming with it.”

Cass frowned.

“I don’t have the time or energy right now to process everything, not when something wants to come into this world and kill thousands of people. But, Cass, come on.” Dean smiled as softly as he could. “Do you really think I’m going to be angry about how you feel? Because that’s what I’m getting right now.”

Cass looked down at his feet, which was just all kinds of wrong. “Human sexual taboos are inexplicable to me, Dean. I know that you care for me, that you think of me as a brother, and nothing in this world means more to me than that.”

“Cass—”

“However, I’m also aware that there are aspects of my feelings toward you that are not welcome, or appropriate. And for that I am sorry.”

“Stop being sorry, OK? You feel the way you feel, and God knows I owe it to you.”

“You think you owe me something?” He’d never seen Cass look that offended.

Dean raised his hands, patting down. “No, no. I don’t mean it that way.”

“And just how do you mean it?”

“I mean, damnit.” Dean rubbed at his eyes. Why was this sort of thing always so difficult? “I mean, there’s nothing you could be feeling for me that would, wait, no, that’s not what I mean either.”

Cass just waited now, eyes suspicious but not hostile. He just decided to start over.

“Cass, what I’m feeling from you, I’ve never felt, ever.” Dean walked over to one of the empty cabinets, peering inside. He remembered when he had drawn a sigil on one of these to drive Cass away so he could give himself to Michael. He remembered Cass going with them, carving another sigil into his own skin even when he didn’t think Dean would be able to say no to the archangel. God, he remembered so many things.

“I’m not made of sticks, you know,” he said now, not even knowing what he was going to say until it came out of his mouth. “You think it does nothing for me to have someone love me the way you do?”

He watched Cass’ face in the reflection of the glass going through a sort of expression-dance of happiness and guilt, apprehension and joy.

“I want nothing from you, Dean,” the angel said eventually.

“Cass, come on.” He turned around, looking his best friend in the face. “You want me naked and under you, let’s be real.”

“Or over me,” Cass said, then looked horrified at himself.

“Yeah?” Dean asked before Cass could go into some sort of introspective fugue.

“Yes,” his friend said then, and the words were awash in the relief of confession. “I don’t care, I could never care about how you touched me, as long as you touched me. Your hands on me.”

And then there it was, lying on the floor between them. Dean thought about how he could possibly pick it up.

“I’m sorry,” Cass was saying suddenly, edging toward the door. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I just—I’m sorry.”

“Cass, shut up, seriously.”

And then there it was: the exact same terrified expression Castiel had made back in the whorehouse when “Chastity” walked up to them. God, it looked like he expected Dean to stab him in the eye and piss on his skull.

“Cass, OK. Really. I just need you to—really? You want me to touch you?” It was a stupid question. He knew Cass did. He had felt it. But still, maybe he had it wrong?

“No, Dean,” Cass said.

A few beats passed.

“Excuse me?”

“No, I don’t want you to touch me because you don’t want to touch me. The idea of ever forcing you or otherwise getting you to perform an erotic act with me is abhorrent. I know you have no desire for me. My fantasies are just that, idle fantasies. This spell is making you aware of impulses and dreams that you should never be subjected to. And for that, I can only apologize.”

“And like I said, you don’t need to apologize. You’re the victim here, being forced to share things you didn’t want to share.” Whoops. That wasn’t quite what he’d meant to say.

“Thank you for your understanding, Dean.” And Cass actually did look grateful. It broke his damn heart.

“Cass,” he said. But then there were no words behind it. Instead, he walked four steps forward right into Cass’ space and pulled him into an embrace.

“I love you, Cass. You know that, right?”

Castiel nodded against his shoulder, his body unyielding as a board. “Thank you, Dean.”

They separated in synch, which felt damn good. Cass smiled at him then, looking almost untroubled. And then they left the dungeon together, united in purpose, and everything was fine.

Completely, totally fine.

Dean even let himself smile when he want to bed that night, determined to clock a full six on the memory foam.

And then he was standing over the bodies of three dead werewolves. He’d kept Sam safe and rescued The Girl, and everything was just frickin’ awesome.

Castiel was standing next to him, his angel blade covered in blood, and his eyes shining with adrenaline. His coat and tie were gone, and his shredded white dress shirt was hanging from his shoulders Captain Kirk-style to reveal a toned, heaving chest covered in sweat and mud.

Dean had never wanted to fuck someone this badly in his life.

They came at each other like linebackers. Dean’s clothes weren’t in great shape either, and pretty soon they were naked, sweaty and shining in the hot sun. Miles of skin, soft and hard and fantastic under his hands.

What came next was an all-out, no-apologies wrestling match for who would be on top. Castiel’s blues eyes were shining with both triumph and mischief, his pink mouth open and gasping with half-groans and half-laughs. A warm, tender hand wrapped around Dean’s cock, demanding and pleading at the same time, and Dean felt to his bones the assurance that they had been here so many times before. Being on top or bottom was a question for the moment, and this strong, supple body would welcome him anytime, anywhere.

“I’ve got to be inside you before I explode,” Dean said, meaning every word and wishing each one from his mouth was hotter, filthier.

Cass’ eyes held his even as he fell back to the blood-drenched ground, spread his legs, and pushed his hips up.

“Come inside me, Dean. Let me watch you use my body for pleasure. Become undone while you’re wrapped in my arms and legs. Take all I have. Use me up until there’s nothing left.”

Dean looked down at the angel’s face, features at once destroyed and transcendent with joy and desire and a dozen other fantastic things. Cass’ need for Dean was rippling off his body, glowing in his eyes, typed out in the undulations of the grasping fingers around his shoulders.

“I love you, Cass,” Dean said, meaning as a vow. “God, I love you so much.”

Cass opened his mouth to say more of those wonderful words.

And then someone was shaking him.

“Dean!” a voice called urgently. “Dean, wake up!”

His eyes flew open to the wall of his room at the bunker. Cass, the real Cass, was leaning over his bed, eyes concerned.

On pure instinct, Dean grabbed Cass by the shoulders and pulled him down, ignoring his “ _Oof!_ ” and straining to reach those soft-looking lips with his own.

Looking terrified, Cass reared back, falling off the bed and scrambling away. It seemed oddly wrong that his angel blade wasn’t in his hand.

“You were dreaming, Dean,” he said. “A dream I influenced. It was an assault on you. Give me just a second, and I’ll—”

“I know you want it, Cass,” Dean growled, never more turned on in his life. God, just the thought of what he wanted to do was stoking the heat in blood. He was going to make those blue eyes roll back in Cass’ head until he splashed the damn ceiling with his jizz.

Cass stumbled backward, slamming into the wall, eyes as big as he’d ever seen them. “Dean, no. You don’t want this.”

“Spread your legs for me, Cass.” Dean got off the bed, walking the few steps that would take him to that warm, firm body. “Take me inside, like you want to. Dance on the end of my—”

He couldn’t quite dodge the hand that went to his forehead, and then he was asleep again, though this time without dreams.

Damnit.

Dean was getting really tired of waking up while a group of people stared down at him with concern.

“Dean?” Jack asked, always the first off the mark these days. “Are you OK?”

That took a moment to think about. He remembered being impossibly aroused and knowing that Cass would welcome it, but that wasn’t the problem. The real issue he needed to think about was that he had basically wanted to jump the guy’s bones, permission be damned.

It was a bit of a blur now, but he knew how rabid he’d felt, how completely out of control.

Knowing that, Dean forced himself to meet Cass eye’s, and he felt, well, nothing weird. The heat of it all had gone cold, though he cared as much about the guy as ever.

In fact, knowing Cass had pretty much had his own sexual fantasies come at him in the flesh and had done nothing but worry about Dean’s own mental state just confirmed what Dean knew about Cass’ character. A sharp, deep spike of affection—completely Dean’s own—speared him. Knowing how much Cass wanted him and yet how much Cass wanted to protect him made him a little dizzy.

Damn, maybe he should just the bone the guy out of gratitude.

“I’m good,” he managed to croak.

“Great,” Sam said. “We’re going to load you up in the car.”

“Huh?”

“Pict told Proud he needs to talk to Cass.”

“Dean,” Cass said. “Can you walk to the car?”

Dean rolled his eyes, which turned out to be a miscalculation. The world spun even as he was trying to sit upright, and then everything kinda went fuzzy for a few minutes.

After that, he was back in the Impala, Cass beside him but not holding him up, which he supposed was a good thing. Sam was at the wheel, and Jack shotgun.

Oh yeah. Pict wanted to talk. Something important was going on.

He felt like himself again, which he guessed was a good thing. Cass wasn’t so much sitting in the backseat as huddling into himself, which was a bad thing.

Dean waited for a moment, glad that Sam had put Zep on the tape deck, even gladder that Jack was wrapped up in whatever was on his laptop.

Slowly, carefully, Dean worked his boot off and then raised up his right foot. Cass saw it and frowned. He rested his ankle on Cass’ thigh, smiled at those confused blue eyes, and then moved his foot down and around and, yeah, right there. His toes curled around the shaft he could feel under Cass’ pants, and his heel pressed gently against the tender flesh beneath.

Cass stared at him, but there wasn’t any denial in it, no horror or fear. He looked guilty as hell, but Dean could live with that.

As gently as he could, Dean moved his foot back and forth, and for a few second it was perfect. Cass flushed red, his eyes darkened, and they were in perfect synch.

Then Cass scowled and reached down to pull Dean’s foot away, setting it down on the leather of the backseat like a statement.

Dean frowned, then smiled. He could do better than that. Cass wanted him so badly, it was easy for Dean to slip his hand down and palm himself through his worn denim.

 _Yeah, Cass_ , he thought. _Look at how ready I am for you_.

But he was outflanked again. Barely a moment into it, and the angel was reaching over and touching his forehead again, and then he was out for the count.

Damnit.


	5. Chapter 5

At least this time when he woke up Jamie was the only one around, and all she did was a throw a “You OK?” in his general direction.

“Let me take inventory,” he grumbled, sitting up on the wall-couch in Proud and Jamie’s RV. “Sam, Cass, and Jack go with Proud to Pict?”

“Yes, left an hour ago,” Jamie was peering at her laptop, typing occasionally. “Proud sent a text about ten minutes ago. They’ve gone in the woods. No sign of red darts.”

Dean nodded, still running through his internal check. He made himself think specifically about Cass, and though he felt anxiety and affection, there was none of that oh-my-God-I-have-to-jump-his-bones going on, thank God.

Other than that, he was groggy from so much sleep and a little hungry. A lot hungry, actually.

“You got anything to eat around here?”

Jamie, looking comfortable in black jeans, a dreamcatcher T-shirt, and her hair pulled back in a pony tail, waved vaguely toward the small ‘fridge. “Help yourself.”

Dean took the plastic off some cold pizza.

Jamie’s phone beeped. “I’m being asked to give a report on you,” she called over her shoulder. “You good?”

“Good.”

“Hmm.” She was quiet for a minute. “OK, I’m supposed to ask if you have an impulse to chase after Castiel. What’s that about?”

“No, I have no impulse to run after Cass or the rest of them.”

“OK.” She typed for a second, then went back to her laptop.

“What are you researching?”

“More penitentiaries, especially the haunted ones. The next two main contenders are New Mexico, Cell Block 4, and the Eastern State Penitentiary. Man, people treat each other like garbage sometimes.”

“Worse than,” Dean agreed. “Any signs of trouble at either site?”

“No. Nothing from any of them right now. Personally, I’m betting on Alcatraz.”

He grunted and wolfed down the last slice.

“So, what was that about you running after them?” Jamie wanted to know, turning around to look at him.

Dean shrugged. “I’m under a spell, but I’m dealing.”

She blinked a few times. “You’re under a spell, but you’re dealing?”

“What I said.”

“What kind of a spell?”

“Nothing I can’t handle. Something to distract Cass, I think.”

“Distract the angel?”

“Yeah.”

Jamie just sort of folded forward then, and Dean was about to rush to her when he realized she was laughing. Her dark eyes actually glistened with mirth when she looked up at him.

“What?”

She shook her head, chuckling. “You travel around with an angel. A damn _angel_ is a friend of yours.”

Dean wanted to say something unpleasant, but stopped himself. He’s just been thinking about how people took Cass for granted, hadn’t he?

“OK, first,” he said. “Cass is my best friend. He’s Sam’s best friend too. He’s family. Cass and Sam and me, we’re Jack’s dads, you got it?”

Jamie nodded, but her eyes were still amused.

“There is nothing about Castiel that’s not sacred to me, all right? Sure, after this many years I can’t do a disco dance every time he says something, but I do not take him for granted, you understand me?”

“You sure about—”

“Yeah, I’m sure, and I don’t need someone who’s known us for five minutes to tell me how to behave around my family.”

“Hey, that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?” Dean realized he’d all but growled the question and tried to pull back a bit.

Jamie put her hands up as she shrugged. “Come on, seriously. You’re the Winchesters, and everybody fixates on that. But would you have even made it out of the gate without an angel on your side? I mean, people downplay his role so much, I was expecting some sort of wind-up toy with a collar on.”

Dean fought down a wave of fury, fully aware some of it showed in his eyes.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger!” Jamie got up and walked over to the mini-fridge to pull out some sort of health shake. It was green, in any case, and it made a sort of _splot_ noise when she opened it. Ugh.

“I didn’t realize he was going to be, I mean, you know. He’s his own man, or his own angel, or whatever. You gotta know what kind of asset that is on your team.”

“Of course I do.”

“Except now, what? This spell makes you think he have to keep an eye on him 24/7? Make sure he doesn’t screw up?”

Dean had to re-align a few things in his head. “I trust Cass more than I trust myself.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“Yeah, well, like I said. We’re family. Doesn’t always show what’s what to outsiders.”

“Ouch,” she said, rubbing a little circle over her chest.

Dean went to the sink for a glass of water, wanting a beer. “Look, I don’t care if you get it.”

Jamie’s phone beeped.

“They have Proud’s son,” she read. “They’re headed back this way.”

“Is he all right?”

Jamie met his eyes. “Proud says I need to get the chains.”

About thirty minutes later, they were ready with a basic restraint system, if a little heavy on the strength runes. There was nothing to say Ty would have more power than an ordinary teen, but there was no point in not being careful.

Proud came through the door first, a lanky, dark-haired boy with slightly Asian features asleep in his arms. The others followed. Cass backed in last, blade in hand.

“Cass?”

“Some sort of presence is watching us,” the angel said.

“It feels familiar?” Dean called over even as he was helping everyone get the boy chained up.

“Yes.” Cass slammed the aluminum door shut, looked over the sigils in place, and efficiently cut his arm with his blade for blood to add three other sigils over the threshold.

“I don’t recognize those,” Jamie said.

“I’m sure they’re good,” Dean told her, though he wasn’t looking at the marks over the door.

“Ty has the same spell on him that the others do,” Cass said, still hefting his blade while he looked out all the windows. “But it’s not affecting him the same way.”

“He’s gone inside himself,” Proud said. “Fighting the spirit there.”

“I need to walk the perimeter,” Cass said next. “Something is there, waiting.” Without another word, he went out the door.

Dean went to follow, then frowned down at the hand Sam had on his arm.

“Maybe I should go.”

“You stay here and figure out what’s going on with the kid,” Dean told him, shrugging him off.

Outside, Cass was easy enough to spot. Dean ran up and watched his flank while the angel made a complete circuit around the trailer park. They didn’t need to speak, gesturing fluently. It was clear Cass was concerned about the presence watching them, but also that there was nothing more they could do but make sure their physical area was secure.

With a frown, Cass finally nodded back at Proud and Jamie’s RV, clearly unhappy they couldn’t do more.

With a nod, Dean waited until they neared a particularly solid oak tree, then threw himself against Cass and pressed his body back against the bark.

“Dean?”

Dean lined them up, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder (though Cass’ were slightly lower than his). “Don’t fight me, Cass,” he breathed, and then kissed that beautiful, perfect, sweet, pink mouth. And God, but Cass tasted like heaven inside. There was the ozone of lightning, just as he’d dreamed, and then a sweetness of honey, which was damn perfect, and then warmth of fertile soil, of promise and health. Cass’s mouth tasted better than anything, better than whiskey, better than a hot breakfast with syrup.

And even while he was obviously trying to hold back, Cass let out a moan that sounded like a major chord of satisfaction.

Next, Dean felt Cass give in, and it was perfect. Warm arms came up around him, better than in his dreams, and Cass angled his head just so, fitting against Dean’s just right, and there was nothing more than lips and determined tongues, both of them trying their hardest to give the other pleasure.

Dean reached inside that damn trench coat to grab two perfect fistfuls of muscular ass, and the body against his undulated with a sort of joyous spasm.

“Dean!” Cass cried up, his head arching back, and Dean darted in to press a dozen kisses along his throat.

And then came a voice broken by sorrow, “Dean, we have to stop.”

“No damn way.”

Cass kissed along Dean’s own neck, obviously savoring every bit of skin. “You don’t want this, not really. Please, help me stop.”

“I can’t.”

“Dean, please. It’s a spell.”

“I don’t care if it’s a spell. I don’t care about any of it. I only know I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone, anything in my life. Please. God, please, Cass. Let me have you.”

His words finished with staring into those fuck-gorgeous blue eyes, cursing whatever made them look so sad when they should only be happy, be ravenous, like Dean was.

“Cass, please. It will be so good.”

Cass’ solemn face nodded, suddenly, and then it was gone, dropped down, and Cass was on his knees.

“Cass, don’t—”

“Give me this, Dean. Forgive me, but give me this.”

Nimble fingers opened his fly, and Cass took in him with one long, hot inhale.

“God, yeah,” Dean breathed out, trying not to thrust into that heat and completely failing. But Cass didn’t choke, didn’t ease off. It was like fucking a wet, velvet furnace.

And then Cass’s perfect fucking hands were moving, caressing his hips, his half-bared ass, along the tops of his thighs, his balls, cradling them with such infinitely delicate motions he felt like glass that would shatter with the slightest wind even while he thrust forward again, helpless against his own insistence.

His hands reached down, running through soft, dark hair, petting cheeks that were hollow with suction, running up and then down past a whiskered jaw to the clean column of Cass’s neck.

And it wasn’t a dream this time, didn’t have that fuzzy edge of dreams or the fear that he would wake up. Cass was actually sucking him in like a drug, like he couldn’t ever get enough.

Cass.

Cass was—Oh, God.

Dean’s body arced back into a bow when he came, every cell in his body feeling like it was on fire. For a moment, he thought he’d died, and he approved of the way he was going out. His only regret was that he hadn’t made Cass feel the same way.

He was a little hazy there for a few moments, but eventually Dean became aware of the rough bark digging into his back, the cold air on his spent dick, and Cass still on his knees in front of him, forehead resting on his left thigh.

“Cass?”

“I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“God, don’t say that.”

“When the spell is over, you’ll hate me for that.”

“No, I won’t.”

Cass laughed, bitter and gruff and awful. He stood, hands deftly doing up Dean’s fly and settling his clothes back into place.

“You will.” The angel was staring down, not making eye contact. “You will, but I still can’t regret it.”

“Hey,” Dean said, then sort of ran out of words.

Now Cass looked at him, but then instantly off to the side. “I can take the memory away.”

“What?”

“When you’re free of the spell, I can let you forget this.”

“Hey, no.”

“And then we can go back to what we were, what we are. This, my sexual impulses—”

“Cass, you didn’t even come.”

“Yes, I did.” He scoffed at himself in hatred, and it hurt Dean all over. “I have dreamed of things like this since I saw you in hell. How selfish is that? How depraved?”

“No,” Dean said, putting his hands on Cass’ shoulders and shaking them. He needed the guy to look at him.

“You were so beautiful, your soul so bright and pure. I didn’t even know what I wanted until Jimmy allowed me to use his vessel.” Cass snorted now, and it was ugly. “A man of God, a man who let an angel inside him to do God’s will, and what did I instantly want? To touch you, to make you feel good, to use his body to serve yours.”

Cass closed his eyes over too-bright eyes. “I’m everything my brothers and sisters have accused me of being. I rebelled for your cause because I believed it was just. I kept Raphael from his desire to destroy the world because I knew he was wrong. I sent the Leviathans to Purgatory, and I was glad to undo their freedom caused by my hubris. And I have served the good of mankind with you and Sam, and I would do it again, over and over, no matter what it cost me. And yet, behind it all, I would give my last ounce of grace and strength to bring you joy.”

“Cass, without the spell, I do love you.”

Cass gave him a lopsided smile. “I know, and I cherish that. But you don’t love me this way.” He shook his head. “Please, when the spell is done and you feel what you actually feel toward me, let me take the memories away. Give me the promise that we can be brothers again.”

“I’ll give you whatever you want, but I don’t regret this. I won’t.”

Cass shook his head. “You will, but we’ll get though this. I’ll make sure.”

“Kiss me.”

Cass stood, brushing off his knees, and shook his head. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Kiss me, and I promise I won’t say anything you don’t want in front of the others.” Dean smiled, not really remembering why the others would have a problem with the way he felt, but confident this would make Cass do what he wanted.

And instead of some big argument, Castiel just smiled, though it was full grief, and shook his head. But then he joined Dean in a tight embrace and sunk willingly into a warm, soft, sexy, expert kiss that left the hunter high as a kite.

They did another walk-around of the perimeter together before returning to the RV, where they found Ty in chains and still unconscious, Jack and Sam and Jamie on their laptops, and Proud sitting by Ty’s side like it would take an act of God to move him.

Eventually, everyone but Proud and Cass went to bed, Sam and Dean tucking into sleeping bags on the floor, while one of their party went to walk the perimeter again and the other watched over his son.

Dean’s dreams were simply a replay of reality now, and he had never enjoyed sleeping more.

So he forgave himself when a cry of alarm work him at zero-crap-thirty, and his first reaction was irritation. It was followed quickly enough by concern, at any rate, and he was up with the rest of them to gather around Ty, who looked like he was sweating out half his body weight as he thrashed on the bed and strained against his bonds.

“He fights,” Proud said, holding one of his son’s hands in both his own.

Cass leaned in and placed a hand over the boy’s forehead, a light shining from his palm. The boy settled, but only some, and then his body arched against the mattress, his eyes opened to show clouded eyes, as though riddled with cataracts, and a voice too low and loud to be human came from his wide-open mouth.

“ _You will not stop us this time, Castiel_.”

Ty went limp, and for a moment everyone held their breath while Proud laid a hand on the boy’s chest.

“Still alive,” the man said, and everyone relaxed slightly.

“Damn it, Cass. This thing knows your name?” Dean asked, looking over to see his friend’s eyes wide and his face pale.

“Cass?” Sam asked. “What is it?”

“Mammon,” Castiel said with disgust.

“The angel that fell with Lucifer?” Jamie demanded. “One of the Seven Satans? Cast out for his greedy admiration of Heaven’s golden roads? That Mammon?”

“Nice Sunday school learnin’,” Dean told her.

“Angelic lore is now required reading for all hunters,” she told him back. “I would have thought you’d know that.”

“He’s the demon of Avarice now,” Cass said, still looking like he wanted to spit. “And in his true form he has the head of a raven.”

Proud jerked in alarm. “The Trickster?”

“What?” Sam and Dean asked together.

“Not Loki,” Cass said. “To associate Mammon with the raven of Native American lore is also misleading, as the raven is often part of healing rituals. Mammon’s raven nature is interested only in what it can steal or beguile from others.”

“This sleep,” Proud said. “It smothers my boy almost like a drug. Could Mammon have made use of the Raven’s magic here?”

“It would also explain how Mammon has recruited some wood sprites to his service,” Jamie said. “Raven did help to create the universe, after all.”

“None of this explains why Mammon’s got a hard-on for you, Cass.”

“I battled him when I and my flight raided Hell.”

“Rescuing me, you mean?”

“Yes. Mammon thought of you as Hell’s property, the Righteous Man trapped in Perdition. He didn’t care about the plan to raise Lucifer or the Apocalypse. He coveted your ‘collectability.’ He sent three of his best against us.”

“And?” Sam asked.

“I killed them. After that, he came for me himself?”

“But you didn’t kill him,” Dean said.

“I thought I had, but I suppose he just might have been severely wounded in battle.”

“So, we have Mammon using Avarice and Wrath together now That’s friggin’ great.”

“Well.” Sam looked at his brother with a rueful shrug that made Dean’s stomach drop to his boots. “And Lust. Or, I mean, were we not supposed to notice?”

“Lust?” Jamie asked. “Where’s that fit in?”

“That’s not important,” Dean said.

“The hell it’s not!”

“So, we have one more elemental, right?” Sam said quickly while Jamie narrowed her eyes at him. “Envy?” He looked to Cass, who shook his head.

“I didn’t say that. I said four of the elementals have been mistaken for Deadly Sins, but there are many more elementals out there.”

“Like what?” Jack asked.

Cass shrugged. “Taken to the extreme, God contains the elemental of Creation, just as Amara contains the elemental of destruction.”

“Who’s Amara?” Proud asked.

“God’s sister, but they’re off on a family reunion right now,” Dean said, ignoring the stares while he kept his eyes on Cass. “OK, so Creation and Destruction, and what?”

“Charity and Patience come to mind.”

“Patience is an elemental?” Sam asked.

“Evolution wouldn’t be possible without it, to say nothing of the formation of the universe.”

“But what does Mammon want with you?” Jack asked.

“I doubt much of this is about me. I’m just in his way. The real issue is what he wants from bringing Avarice and Wrath and, perhaps, other elementals into this world in their pure form.”

“Well, what’s the outcome, apart from people getting killed in the shock wave and general earthly destruction?”

“Chaos and death can’t be the endgame here,” Cass said. “Avarice is interesting in acquiring, and Wrath might have been brought in as part of Mammon’s desire for revenge on me and whoever else has thwarted him in the past. But Wrath’s goal isn’t ruin, it would be something more revenge or punishment.”

“So, what? He’s after gold? Diamonds? He wants to knock over Fort Knox and Tiffany’s? Hasn’t he heard of Amazon?”

“I have no idea what on this planet is valuable enough to tempt him enough for this sort of incursion.”

“Souls,” Sam said. They all looked at him. “When we were bidding for the tablet, when Balthazar was amassing wealth before the Apocalypse, we were told human souls were priceless.”

“But Mammon has no way of acquiring souls,” Cass said. “He lost that power when he fell.”

“Well, maybe he has something,” Dean said. “Like that crystal Rowena used.”

“Perhaps, but if it’s souls he wants, it would be much easier for him to take them from Hell.”

“But those are corrupted,” Dean said.

“What about Heaven?” Jack asked. “Heaven is vulnerable right now with billions of souls protected by just a few angels. And you said Mammon wanted Heaven’s roads of gold, right?”

“Heaven is vulnerable?” Jamie asked.

“Mammon wants everything Heaven has,” Cass said, nodding while his eyes gleamed with the acknowledgement Jack was on to something. “And Heaven is decidedly vulnerable. And Mammon might be able to take it from the angels without making it fall to Earth, as Lucifer did. He might even use Lucifer’s tactics. Naomi is so desperate.”

“So Earth is just a staging area for an assault on Heaven,” Sam said. “How do we stop it?”

A good minute of silence followed.

Finally Dean ducked his head. “I got nothing.”

“We need to head back to the bunker, check the lore,” Sam said.

“I need to speak to Pict again,” Castiel said, heading for the door.

“I’ll go with you,” Jack said.

Sam went to his laptop while Dean looked over at Jamie. “You got anything to cook, or should I make a run?”

Later, they were all eating burgers. Pict had told Cass nothing to prove or disprove their idea, and the angel also told Dean privately Pict had been able to give him no new information on the spell. Dean responded that he thought Sam was wrong about Lust being involved, to which Cass made an uncommitted face. They were winding down for the evening, and Dean was thinking about getting to bed early for an early start back home.

And then Ty woke up, babbling frantically. It took Dean thirty seconds of confusion to realize the kid was talking in Korean, not speaking in tongues.

At his side, Proud caught at his son’s hands to still them, holding them tightly as he responded to Ty in fluent Korean. Then the kid burst into tears, his father caught him up in a tight hug, chains and all, and soothed him with quiet words.

Dean looked at Jamie, who shrugged. “I don’t know, but give Ty a minute. He can speak English well enough.”

“Ty grew up in Korea?” Sam asked.

“Yes, until his mother died and Proud brought him here three years ago.

Dean felt a twinge in his chest. It wasn’t like he’d only known three Koreans in his life, but he was thinking suddenly of Kevin and his tiger mother, and regret was bitter in his mouth.

He became aware of Cass standing near him, close enough for his warmth to reach his skin, and when he turned to look, the angel’s expression made it clear he knew what was on Dean’s mind.

“Cass, how important is it for us to keep in communication with Pict?” he asked quietly. Cass looked worried.

“You want to take Ty and Proud back to the bunker,” Sam said.

“Someone needs to stay here,” Cass said.

“I can stay, if Proud leaves the RV,” Jamie said. “But I’d like to hear more about this Heaven issue first.”

Ty grew quiet, and Dean turned back to see Proud undoing his chains.

“He says a spirit came to him in the woods. She said she was his mother. She led him into a clearing, and then the sun was too bright.”

“And after that?” Dean asked.

“I don’t remember,” Ty said, his voice thick with disuse and a heavy accent. “Everything hurt.”

“Do you remember how you kept yourself from going feral like the others?” Sam asked.

“Feral?”

Proud spoke rapidly in Korean, obviously explaining what had happened with the other teenagers.

Dean turned at the sound of the door opening, just catching sight of a tan coat as it went through the door.

“Cass!” he called, chasing after.

“Stay with the others, Dean. I’ll be back.”

Dean caught up with him easily enough, but Cass barely looked at him. “I have to go. It’s Pict.”

“Is he praying to you?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, at least let me give you a ride.”

Cass stalled, looked at him, then nodded and made his way to the Impala. When they pulled up to the path into the woods, however, he put up a hand.

“Dean, trust me. I need you to stay here.” Then he was out of the car and away, disappearing from sight in under a minute.

“Damn it,” Dean muttered, settling into what turned out to be one of the longest thirty-minute waits of his life.

Stomping and weaving, half-blind with trauma, the first teenager emerged from the trees looking like the victim of a blast zone. The one behind her didn’t look any better.

There they all were: Penny Levarde, William Jolth, Henry Clarke, Jose Lopez, and Kelle Laffette. Cass had the rear, blade in hand.

Dean managed not to say anything about the stench when the kids fumbled their way into the car. Cass was murmuring soft instructions to them before he slid into the front seat with the smallest, Jose, in his lap. Without a word from Dean, he rolled down the window.

Dean got his down as well while starting Baby up.

“They’re out from under the spell?”

“It appears so.”

“What did Pict say?”

Cass looked at him, eyes worried. “He wasn’t there. No one was there, just these children in the cage.”

“Mama,” Jose whimpered.

Dean whipped out his cell phone and told Sam what was going on, then got directions to the Wood Health Care Clinic.

Eventually, the kids were in beds hooked up to IVs, and the parents had been called. Pretending they had either to go to the men’s room or go back to the car for ID, Dean and Castiel managed to slip out before the police got too aggressive, and within twenty minutes Proud and Jamie in the RV were following the Impala (windows still down) back to the bunker.

As usual, Dean drove most of the way. He was good. He music was on and his mind well entertained by thoughts of what it would be like to spread Cass out naked on his bed and just work him over until the guy came so hard he blacked out.

Did angels black out from sex?

He couldn’t wait to find out.


	6. Chapter 6

Back at the bunker, though, Cass almost instantly disappeared into the crowd—Dean was getting really tired of all these bodies in his home—and evidently a half-dozen people were going to explode if they didn’t ask Dean a question in the next five seconds.

Once he shook off the hunters and wannabes, Dean still couldn’t find his angel. He didn’t want to ask Sam, who was too smart for his own good, or Jack, who’d already gone to his room for the night, but sitting in his own room for ten minutes waiting to see if Cass knocked on his door proved useless.

Well, no, Dean decided. It proved Castiel was avoiding him. He was tempted to pray, but considering what he wanted to do to Cass right then, praying seemed in poor taste.

God, just thinking about it, seeing the guy naked, touching him, getting Cass’ warm, strong hands on him, like he could just reach out—

In fact, he did feel like he could reach out, not with his hand, but with his mind. Eyes closed, he let his awareness go to the walls of his room, then further, following a lead, a sort of beacon in the dark.

His eyes opened. “Bingo.”

Cass was in the dungeon, running his angel eyesight along the lines of the devil’s trap. The chains were lying tidily along the table, no doubt having had their runes and links tested for flaws. He had been leaning over to peer at the floor, but he straightened quickly at Dean’s entrance.

“You know, we only call this the sex dungeon as a joke.”

“Hello, Dean.” Blue eyes looked past the man at the open door, then widened when Dean kicked the door closed and walked toward him.

“So, everything safe and sound in here?”

“There’s been no damage to the—” Castiel broke off when Dean continued walking past that “personal space” boundary he’d been so adamant about. He backed up three steps and ended up against the wall as Dean continued to advance.

“I have this theory,” he said. “Well, more a plan than a theory. You see, I figure if I get you naked in here, you’ll never really relax.”

“Dean, I really don’t think—”

“So, you see, my plan means I have to get you back to my room while you’re still dressed, which wouldn’t be complicated except that if I don’t get my mouth on you in the next thirty seconds, I’m going to throw myself a grade-A tantrum.”

Dean stopped moving forward on the last word, which was fine as he was now fully pressed up against a trench coat, a black suit, a white shirt, and a warm, solid body inside it all. It occurred to him that Castiel smelled even more fantastic than usual as Dean relaxed against that strong chest and lined up their hips so he could push gently forward.

“Dean,” Cass said, and the way his voice cracked was the sexiest thing ever. “This isn’t right.”

Dean shivered with pleasure. “I know.” He looked at Cass’ soft lips, then leaned in. God, those lips had been around his cock, taking him in then just like they were drawing in his breath and tongue now. The body against him was being held perfectly still. Cass wasn’t even moving his stomach to breathe. Even the kiss, as good as it was, felt controlled, constrained.

“Kiss me, Cass,” Dean whispered against the cleft of a stubbled chin. “Let go and kiss me.”

“We can’t do this. You’re compromised. This, this can’t happen.”

“Oh, it’s happening, all—”

Dean swallowed an unmanly yelp of surprise at the force of Cass’ shove, almost tripping over the chair in the middle of the trap. Then the angel was all but running out of the room.

“Cass!” He froze with his hand on the doorknob. “You leave me here, and I’m going to go to my room, strip off my clothes, and pray to you while I jerk off until dawn.”

The angel stayed frozen another minute, then whirled around, coat flaring like a cape, before he strode back to Dean with fire and brimstone in his eyes. “You ass! I’m trying to keep you from—”

Dean met him with equal force, reeled him in, and swallowed his anger with open-mouthed, desperate kisses, laughing in triumph when Cass’ arms went around him. Soon, he was drowning in exactly what he wanted.

Who the hell cared if this were some spell? He’d been damned, cursed, bewitched, told his destiny, turned into a vampire, and Chuck knew what else. For once, the magic was making him feel good. For once, he wanted nothing more than to go along with it. That fire from Cass’ eyes was dancing along his nerves now, and he’d never been more turned on in his life.

He got that damn coat off Cass’ shoulders even while the guy was ripping his flannel down his arms and peeling off his Henley. The damn tie and jacket went next.

“Fuck me, Cass,” Dean hissed, surprised at his own words but even more turned on when he heard himself. He’d had more than a few woman play with his ass. Cass’ cock would feel amazing up there. A pixel-perfect graphic flashed through his mind, and he knew it was from Cass: Dean kneeling on a bed holding on to some fancy iron headboard, trembling and sweating, while Cass plowed into him from behind, one hand on his hip for leverage, the other stripping his wet cock.

“Oh God, yeah,” Dean moaned, almost coming all over himself as he pushed his jeans and briefs down to his knees. “Just like that.”

“No,” Castiel growled, pulling them gently down to the cold flood and making sure Dean was on top. “You take me. That would be better.”

Something about the way Cass said “better” didn’t sound right, but then the angel’s mouth was on his again, and he felt his hard, supple body writhe beneath him, getting his pants off.

“That’s it, Cass,” Dean muttered, leaving those lips just for a second to lick the sexiest neck he’d ever seen. Everything about Cass had become erotic, and he wanted it all, right now. He ran his fingers through Cass’ bed-head hair, ran his tongue around a soft ear, ripped open his white shirt, and caressed his smooth, toned chest. It was like getting to fondle a statue in a museum.

He looked his lover in the face, scalded by blue eyes. “So hot, God, so hot, Cass. I want to take forever to do everything with you.”

Cass moaned and bit his lip, and for a horrible moment he could see shame on the angel’s face.

“None of that,” Dead soothed, peppering his gorgeous face with kisses. “I want this, spell or no spell. You said you knew I loved you, Cass.”

“Yes.” The slightest hint of a blue light shone in Cass’ eyes. “You do, if not this way, which is why I’ve convinced myself you’d forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.” Dean reached down to run his lips and tongue along Cass’ torso, spending extra time on tight nipples. “There isn’t going to be anything to forgive.”

Cass’ next words held the tone of confession. “This is going to be my Heaven, Dean.”

“Heaven is right,” he muttered in distraction, getting to see Cass’ rock-hard dick for the first time. Nice and straight, long and thick, pink head shiny with pre-come, the shaft smooth and tender. He went to take it in his mouth, but strong hands stopped him.

“Be inside me, Dean. Please.”

His right hand was guided down and around, and Dean chuckled lewdly when he felt slick between the tight, soft globes of Castiel’s ass. _Angel lube_ , he thought, and chuckled again. Convenient.

Dean explored the soft, giving flesh there, stroking the furled opening that seemed hotter than a woman’s, especially once he got his finger inside. Cass made this little hiccough-sob.

“Feel OK?”

“Heaven, Dean. I’m memorizing every moment of this, the placement of every molecule in the room, the number of freckles on your body right this moment, the scent of your breath mingling with mine, the whorls of your fingerprints against my skin.”

“Cass, your bed talk is going to drive me out of my mind,” Dean groaned, noting with pleasure that everything his fingers touched was loosening up nicely.

“Whenever I want, for the rest of my time, I’ll be able to be here again, watching you get me ready, feeling you enter me. Over and over.”

Over and over: Dean liked the sound of that. “We’re going to do every experiment in the book. Metatron’s media download into your brain must have included the Karma Sutra.” Unable to wait any longer Dean pulled out his wet fingers, ran them up and down his cock twice, and then lined himself up. “Maybe we can get your some angel cuffs with padding.”

Cass spread his legs wide, lifting his hips to make himself as available as possible. “In me, Dean. Now, please.”

“You beg so . . . Oh, God.” Cass’ body was like lava, perfect tightness stretching around his dick as Dean pushed in. He froze, riding out the almost irresistible urge to come. Cass held him at the hip and shoulder, and then his body just took over, lowering, entering, being held perfectly. “So hot.”

“You’re enjoying me,” Cass whispered with awe. “I can feel how much I’m pleasing you.”

Dean pulled back and thrust in, getting into a rhythm, and Cass got a lot less coherent, groaning mostly his name and words like “perfect” and “forever.” He closed his eyes against the bliss of it, feeling pleasure ripple up and down his spine, dance around in his brain, and spread out to his toes. As much as he’d always loved sex, it had never, ever been this good before.

The next time Cass said something about Heaven, Dean could only moan out his agreement.

“Dean!” Cass cried out as his body tensed up. “Look at me, Dean!”

He managed to pry his eyes open and stare down into a gaze of solid blue that worshiped him. Another thrust, as deeply into that heat as he could go, warm hands grabbing his ass to pull him in even tighter, and they were coming together, and nothing had ever felt so right, so good and virtuous, as seeing his own rapture shared on Castiel’s face, knowing he’d given this being he loved as much joy as he was feeling himself.

Without apology, knowing he could take it, Dean let himself collapse on top of him, his softening erection slowly pulling out, his arms and legs trembling from exertion, his whole body buzzing with sensuality and satisfaction.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cass rumbled, and Dean would have laughed at the ridiculousness of being thanked if he could get his muscles to work. Half-conscious he heard the gravelly voice continue speaking, his words soft in the dim light of the room.

“I’ll have that forever now. I’ll be able to forget everything except you, again, just that moment, with the way you looked when you came and the way you looked at me.”

“Cass,” he said, just because he could. Seriously, sleep was coming fast.

“You’ve given me permission to enter your mind before, and I know that doesn’t make it right, but I have to believe you’d give consent, if you could. I have to believe I’m right in making this choice for you.”

“Choice?” he mumbled.

“Sleep, Dean. In the morning, everything is going to be all right.”

There was a light touch at his forehead.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean woke up feeling great. His memory-foam mattress had held up to a solid—he checked his watch—six hours of sleep, and damn it was nice to be home.

He sat up, glad to see he’d gotten his boots off and changed into sweats before falling into bed. His head felt clear. It was nice to conk out occasionally without a half-bottle of whiskey in his bloodstream.

After enjoying the bunker’s water pressure and putting on fresh everything, he headed into the kitchen to get coffee, nodding at some guy—Mitch?—hovering over the toaster.

Jack and Sam were at their laptops in the library. His brother nodded good morning and looked pointedly at a third, currently unoccupied computer. Dean took the hint and sat down. They’d flagged every hot spot they could think of, every haunted, disturbed, disturbing place; checking them on rotation was a full-time job even for three of them.

Cass was with Proud and Jamie at the next table, going through the lore.

“Looks like I’m the last up,” Dean muttered.

“At least you slept whatever it was out of your system,” Sam muttered back.

“Huh?”

Sam flicked a glance around and lowered his voice. “You were stomping around like a grizzly last night.”

Dean frowned. He didn’t remember that. But Sam was probably just being a girl again. He shrugged and keyed in the next site.

Cass brought a tray of coffees to the table and handed them off. Jamie caught his eye and frowned. Seriously, what was the woman’s problem? He’d thanked the guy.

About twenty minutes later, Cass came back and joined the others at their books, looking a little flushed. Huh.

The day went quickly, but it brought little. Sam sent some hunters out after a windigo and another group after a child-killing ghost. Over the week, Jack increased their search area to the North American continent, and Ty seemed to recover completely from his ordeal. Considering space limitations, Proud took his son to a hotel in Lebanon, and Jamie roomed up with Maggie and her boyfriend. But they spent their days in the bunker, helping to research and keep watch.

A new face appeared on Tuesday. Jamie had told Sam she knew a hunter, Kelle Sullivan, who was fluent in Enochian, and even with Cass there, a second set of angel-reading eyes could only help.

Wanting to stretch his legs, Dean went out to meet her, giving him a great view of the cherry 1969 Plymouth GTX, red with a black stripe down the middle, that pulled up outside the entrance. By the time a slim, strong-looking, brown-eyed blonde stuck her black cowboy boots out the door, he was already half in love.

“Dean Winchester,” he said, reaching out to help her with the duffle she (and her extremely well-toned bottom) pulled out of the trunk.

“Kelle Sullivan.” She let him take the bag and then shook his hand, looking him over with a small, approving smile, the kind that said she knew he was a looker but wasn’t going to throw her panties in his face (at least, not yet). “Jamie said you’re looking into some pretty arcane stuff.”

“That we are.” He led her inside, letting her look around with no small amount of pride.

“This place is wild,” she said. “You know, I’d heard rumors about the Men of Letters. Thought it was something some drunk hunters came up with, another crazy tale involving you and your brother.”

“And speaking as the crazy brother,” Sam said, walking up smooth as you please. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She shook Sam’s hand with another appraising look, not quite as impressed this time, Dean thought, and gestured at the ‘50s equipment and array of working laptops. “The warding in here is impressive.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Dean said, passing the bag off to Sam and giving her a respectful (but not too respectful) smile. After her brief tour, he sat her down next to Jamie and Proud, who passed over a book in Enochian and explained they were looking for any informational about elementals, Mammon, Wrath, and prisons.

Kelle ran her hands over the leather cover, eyes awed. “Where did this book come from?”

“The library,” Dean said, and Jamie snorted.

“It looks to be a copy of manuscript by a tenth-century monk, who references several other works like it, none of which we’ve found,” she explained. “Please note any of those if you can.”

“Dean,” Sam called from the other table. “Jack and I want you to see this.”

With a nod, he walked over and found himself staring at a map of the continent. A series of lines told him the issue before either of the others could open his mouth. There was a pattern of disturbances going on, but he couldn’t quite pin it down.

Hours later, Dean leaned back in his chair and stretched. Looking around, he saw Jack asleep in an armchair. The poor kid really hadn’t gotten used to how much sleep he needed now. Sam was propping his chin up on one hand and staring at his screen with dull eyes.

Cass had joined the other table at some point, and someone had brought sandwiches, the bones of which lay around on paper plates. A couple empty beer bottles added to the lot, along with a good whiff of Sam’s feet.

He opened his mouth to say something when he heard again what had brought him out of his work: a series of vowel sounds and grunts. He turned to see Cass and Kelle deep in Enochian conversation, nodding at each other.

With a grunt of his own, Dean stood and ambled over. Funny, but Kelle made the language sound sexy.

“What’s the word, guys?”

“We’ve located two sources now that claim the only way to defeat an elemental is with another elemental,” Cass said.

“It’s a matter of locating the right elemental,” Kelle said, and Dean became aware that Sam and a newly wakened Jack were standing next to him now. “Taking on Wrath isn’t just a matter of siccing Peace on it, especially since Peace isn’t an elemental.”

“It’s not?” Sam asked.

Cass shook his head. “Peace is the complicated outcome of a number of forces, not a primal element.” He ran a finger over the page in front of him, translating: “And it shall pass that the cancellation of force shall be by an equal and opposite force.”

“Centuries before Newton,” Sam said, like that meant anything to anybody.

Then Kelle was nodding, damn it. “If we don’t  get just the right elemental to balance it out, calling on it will just make things worse.”

“I’ve been compiling a list of characteristics for all known elementals,” Cass said. “If we can compare that to an equally comprehensive list of our own experiences with Wrath and Avarice, we may be able to determine the most likely candidate.”

Kelle laughed, looking at Cass with respect. “Where’d you find this treasure house of knowledge, fellas? Not a hunter in the country wouldn’t trade their best shotgun for ten minutes with the guy.”

Castiel made that face where he was trying not to look flattered, and Dean fought off a twinge of irritation. Sure, he loved it when people appreciated Cass, but he was hoping to give Kelle another tour of the bunker, this time ending in his bedroom.

Dean had just decided his strategy when Jack spoke up, “Castiel has been teaching—”

“Castiel?!” Kelle said, whipping her head around to look at him. “The angel? I’ve been sitting next to the angel for five hours, and no one told me?”

Cass actually looked embarrassed now. “Your Enochian is impeccable. I assumed you realized. I should have introduced myself.”

Kelle shook her head with a laugh, just overtly fangirling now. “This place is beyond wild. Can I help with the list? Do we have more sources to work with?”

Cass looked up at Dean, who tried hard to send a message back: _C’mon, Cass. Be a buddy here._

He hesitated, then looked at Kelle with kind concern. “You’ve been up many hours, driving here, working with us. As an angel, I can feel your fatigue. I would greatly welcome your further help after you have rested.”

Kelle looked disappointed, but Dean distracted her with a smile. “We’ve got a room set up for you, if you’ll follow me?”

She looked back at Cass. “Promise you’ll be here in the morning?”

He nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

With a general smile for the table, Kelle stood up and promptly gave out a cute little yawn. “Whoops, I am tired. I’ll see you all in the morning.” She turned to Dean with a grin while Jamie and Pride and Ty packed up their stuff and Jack told them all good night.

“You get some sleep too, Sam,” Dean growled.

“Yeah, yeah.” The guy’s eye were already on Cass, who was doubtlessly in for a first-rate interrogation from the giant bookworm.

As he turned to escort Kelle from the room, he felt eyes on him and caught Jamie giving him the stink-eye. Did nothing ever make the woman happy? Kelle and Cass’ discovery was the first good news they’d had in weeks.

He and Kelly walked down the hallway toward the guest room they kept ready as her steps slowed slightly and she looked at him with a dimpled grin.

“So, I’ve gotta say I’m surprised at how much talk about you boys has turned out to be true.”

“Yeah?”

She nodded. “You really do live in some Cold War bunker, hang out with an angel, and lead a little hunter army.” She stopped altogether then, looking him up and down. “Tell me, is what I’ve heard about Mr. Dean Winchester also true?”

Dean gave her his best smile. “It can be, if you want it to be.”

After that, it was all wonderfully uncomplicated. Kelle knew what she wanted, all right, and didn’t hesitate to ask for it. By the time he’d left her in one seriously unmade bed very early that morning, he was looking forward to his solid four hours of downtime and ready to send Cass flowers for the assist.

He was up before everyone but Sam the next morning, whom he suspected hadn’t slept at all. The greeted each other over the coffee pot, and Dean thought about bacon.

Then another thought struck him. “Cass around?”

Sam nodded, then frowned. “You notice he’s doing this a lot?”

“Doing what?”

“Well, he’ll be here, working or whatever, and then he leaves for about twenty minutes, and then he comes back, like he’s gone to the men’s room, except we know that’s not it.”

“Doesn’t sound sinister or anything.” Dean topped off his cup. Yup. Bacon was definitely on the agenda.

“No, he just didn’t used to do it before.”

Dean scowled at him. “Before what?”

Sam scowled back. “You know.”

“Mornin’, fellas,” Kelle called out as she walked into the kitchen, looking bright as the sun and sweet as candy. She shot Dean a pleased look and moved in on the coffee while Dean headed to the ‘fridge. Time to find out who wasn’t a vegan.

Looking a little flushed again, Castiel showed up with Bobby and Mary a few minutes later. Was something up with him, or was he just uncomfortable with the way Kelle was staring at him like he was an icon in church?

“I just off the horn with a hunter in Idaho,” Bobby said as he made his own pilgrimage to the coffee and poured cups for himself and Mary, sniffing the aroma from Dean’s frying pan the whole time.

“He’s reporting dead cows and rotten potatoes,” Mary continued. “Not red rooms.”

“But we still need to get on it,” Bobby said.

Cass frowned. “I’m not sure this is the time to divide our forces.”

“Cass and I found a correlation between the two incursions and the pagan celebrations of Midsummer and Lamas,” Sam said. “And we’ve got Mabon coming up.”

“Not for weeks,” Bobby said.

“With the unseasonable weather we’ve been having, that may not matter,” Cass said. “Kansas may suit its purposes just fine.”

“Kansas?” Mary asked.

“Cass and I spotted it last night,” Sam said. “We can show you.”

“After breakfast,” Dean said, putting the first batch of bacon on plates and reaching for the eggs as Jack appeared in the kitchen. No one argued with his demand, though Cass disappeared for the actual eating. Dean kind of missed the days they could tempt the angel with a cup of coffee, but he seemed to have lost the taste for it.

During breakfast, Jamie, Ty, and Proud showed up, along with Maggie and a few other hunters. Fortunately, they’d all made stops at Waffle House or whatever.

The team met back at Sam’s laptop, where the design Dean had seen last night had been augmented with a number of dates and locations.

“It took us both a while to see it because of the orientation effect,” Sam said. “We dismissed the way Lebanon looks central because we built the search pattern out from the bunker.” Sam manipulated the image to show it from various geographical points. “But, as you can see, we are dead center of the disturbances. When something happens on one side of us, something like it happens on the other side, same distance away.” He entered some data and nodded. “Including the latest from Idaho.”

“The bunker isn’t a prison with angry spirits,” Jamie said.

“No, but it is a focal point of spiritual energy,” Cass said. “And it’s set along a number of ley lines and other sources of energy.”

“So Mammon has been prepping us as the target?” Mary said. “Why spend all this time setting the stage?”

“Because the disturbances have been interrupting those same energy lines,” Sam said. “The bunker is being very carefully cut off from its natural power sources.”

“How much have we been weakened?” Dean asked, fighting off rage at the idea of an attack on their home.

“We’re working on that,” Sam said.

“We could use Rowena,” Jack said.

“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” Cass said.

Dean frowned at him. “Ley lines? Natural power sources? Disruptive magic? Sounds like Rowena’s kind of rodeo to me.”

Cass shrugged and looked away.

Sam already had his phone out.

“Who’s Rowena?” Kelle asked Dean.

“A powerful witch. When she’s in the mood to help us, it’s good to have her on our side.” He smiled, but the lovely gal was turning away, looking to Cass.

“Do you have a religious objection to working with a witch?” she asked him.

Cass looked puzzled. “Why would I?”

“Well, don’t Christians hate witches?”

Cass looked even more puzzled. “I’m an angel, not a Christian.”

“But guardian angels are part of Judeo-Christian mythology.”

“I’m not a guardian angel, and I am part of most mythologies, though with different names and designations.”

Dean noticed everyone but Sam and Jack was focused on every word.

“Designations?” she asked. “Like, a cherub?”

“Technically, I’m a seraph.”

Her eyes went wide. “Isn’t that one step below an archangel?”

Cass frowned and looked uncomfortable again. “One very big step, yes.”

“All right, enough with Twenty Questions,” Dean said, not caring when Kelle shot him an annoyed look. He turned to Sam, who was pocketing his phone. “She got anything?”

“She says she’s been wondering who’s been ‘dumping wastewater into her cistern.’ She’s on her way here. Should make it tomorrow.”

“What sort of timeline are we looking at?” Bobby wanted to know.

“If Mammon follows his pattern, which he may not, we’re looking at a few days, maybe a week,” Cass said. “Then the bunker will be at its most vulnerable. In all likelihood, the warding will fail with even a mild assault.”

“We need to get everybody out of here,” Dean said.

Jamie drew herself up. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean shook his head. “I mean everyone not involved. Proud, do you have a place for Ty to go without you?”

“I’m staying with my father,” Ty said.

“I want to stay and fight,” Maggie said. “You need people doing as much research as you can.”

“All right, all right.” Dean looked at Jack. “Find out who’s willing to stay clear of this place until we’ve taken care of things, and we’ll figure out where all they can go.”

Jack nodded and went to the kitchen, where Bonny and that guy were making pancakes.

“You’re making a list about elementals, right?” Maggie asked Cass, who nodded. “How can I help?”

“You’re good with talking to people,” Cass said. “Everyone who’s experienced the elementals’ presence needs to be interviewed thoroughly and separately. We need every detail we can get.”

“You can start with me,” Ty said, looking at his father as though daring him to object. Proud frowned, but said nothing.

“Use the workshop off the garage. It’ quiet there,” Sam suggested, drawing blank looks from Ty and Maggie. “I’ll show you,” he said and led them out.

“You’d still like my help with the Enochian,” Kelle said to Cass.

“Yes, and the we’ll need Jack’s expertise with a spreadsheet,” he replied as Kelle and Jamie followed him back to the other table.

“Proud, Bobby, Mom, and, er, you,” Dean said to the guy standing nearby, recognizing him as someone usually fooling around with small devices. “We need to set up a perimeter. Most of our alarms rely on magic and old technology.”

“If we want redundancy, we should set up two independent systems,” the guy told him.

“What you said.” Dean made sure everyone got armed up and took them outside.

By the end of the day, Dean was feeling slightly better, though still pretty damn pissed. The guy, whose name turned out to be Alex, was more than handy with knowing what they needed to pick up in town and how to turn it into several different early-warning systems. They had alarms set off to seismic, heat, and air vibration signatures. It meant they were going to get a lot of red lights for rabbits and foxes, but that was a small price for a little peace of mind.

The others were busy as well. Maggie really put him through the wringer about his experience with the elementals, which he hoped helped. To Dean’s irritation, Jack reported that no one wanted to leave. In fact, all the people they’d managed to get someplace else to sleep wanted to hunker down in sleeping bags on the bunker floor.

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the loyalty, but there were just so many of them. Even if Cass could figure out what elementals to take on Mammon with, there was bound to be cross-fire.

But it was their fight too, Dean acknowledged to himself. The bunker and its secrets were still their best chance of defeating Michael and going back home to remake their world.

Shaking it off, he stomped into the shower, sighing at the feel of hot water and wondering if Kelle might be up for another round. Hopefully, he hadn’t pissed her off about Cass.

When came out, there were hot pizza boxes on the war table, and Sam handed him a beer without comment. He found himself a good seat near a bookcase and waited until the twenty-odd people around him settled down.

“Cass and the others have narrowed down our probably elementals,” Sam said. “Charity is looking like a lock for Avarice, while Compassion is our best bet so far for Wrath. I’ve briefed Rowena, who’s bringing the Book of the Damned.”

“We have several books here that should help as well,” Cass said, nodding at the pile his group had collected. “Including one that may enable her to call on the Raven.”

“I have reached out to a shaman,” Proud said. “He should be able to get here by tomorrow as well. If the Raven’s magic has been used without his consent, we may be able to get him on our side.”

The others continued talking while Dean enjoyed his full belly and light beer buzz. Kelle was surrounded by books, so he didn’t bother trying to roust her out when he decided to call it a night. He lay in his bed for a couple hours with the headphones on, thinking about how they could protect the civilians better, then saw his door open.

He slid off his headphones when Kelle appeared, smiling. “I did knock.”

***

Rowena showed up before noon, snugly fit into a dark green dress that hugged and sparkled, rather like the witch herself. Seeing her come down the bunker stairs was like watching Glinda come down in her bubble.

Dean hung back while Sam gave her a hug and Jack offered up a sort of handshake-bow that made him smile. She looked around at the others, then spied Dean, at which her smiling air of mischief disappeared in a near-visible _poof_.

“Rowena,” Cass said from his position at Dean’s elbow. When had he shown up? He walked up to the witch with an air of purpose. “It’s good to see you. We have a great deal to discuss.”

She hesitated, then smiled with a careful nod. “I can see that.” She glided over to Dean then and reached up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “And how’s my favorite strapping hunter today?”

“Great. Thanks for coming, Rowena.”

She shrugged, glittering a little brighter. “One thing I know for certain, when the Winchesters call to say the world’s in danger, there’s no use hiding under the bed with the dust bunnies.” She smiled again. “Now, where can a girl set up her bowls and potions?”

“Jack and I got the holding room ready for you,” Cass said. “We thought you would be best protected there in an incursion.”

“Ah, and I would be less likely to set the place on fire as well, I suppose?”

“The holding room has many features to help focus magic,” Jack said, oblivious to the looks Cass and Rowena were giving each other. Was she actually flirting with the angel now, Dean wondered? You could just never tell with her.

Then she turned serious, looking at Sam and then Dean as she held up her large carpet bag. “I need to do a survey of the areas you told me about, see just how much the natural magic order has been disrupted.”

“Jack, if you could bring those books,” Cass said, nodding to the table, which meant Rowena was already looking Kelle’s way when the blonde hunter moved forward.

“I’ve never met a witch of any great power before,” she said, holding out her hand for a shake and getting one of Rowena’s delicate hand-holds instead. “I’m good with ancient languages, if that could help you.”

“Ah, that explains the whiff I’m getting of Enochian magic about you,” Rowena said, eyes slightly narrowed. “I image our little band could tell you a few stories about that sort of thing, as well as the need to hang on to your soul entire.”

“My soul?” Kelle stepped back slightly.

“I have the books!” Jack said, stepping forward to help guide the witch to the holding room. In the small silence left in Rowena’s wake, Dean made sure not to smile. He liked Kelle fine, but it was a good lesson for her not to take a 300-year-old sorceress at face value.

Jack returned after a moment and told Sam they needed to bring Rowena some printouts of the disturbances, which reminded Dean he hadn’t told Cass about all the modifications Alex and the team had made outside.

Turning down the hallway to the dungeon, Dean faltered in surprise when Rowena’s angry voice came through the open door in front of him.

“Castiel, last remaining seraph or not, I’m not taking your word for something as important as Dean’s health, not without a much better explanation!”

“Dean’s health is fine,” Cass responded as Dean edged closer.

“He’s wrapped in angel magic from his aura to his shadow! Just what are you keeping inside him?”

“I’m preventing something from getting inside him,” Cass said. “He was enchanted, and I got him free. I’m trying to keep him that way.”

“Enchanted how, exactly? And it’s obvious he hasn’t got a clue, so don’t give me twaddle about protecting him from attack.”

“The spell manipulated him, robbed him of his ability to concentrate. Can’t you tell he’s completely back to being himself?”

“How can I tell anything, you’ve got him sealed up so tight? And just what was he like when he wasn’t himself, I ask?”

“I told you. He was distracted.”

“By what?”

“He was being subjected to unwanted outside emotions. He’s protected now. He’s _safe_!”

Dean almost ran into the room, Cass sounded so desperately earnest. And what the hell was he talking about? Had Cass been compromised? Dean hadn’t been under any spell.

Rowena didn’t speak for a quite a while, and when her voice came it was tight and low. “Castiel, Angel of Thursday, have I your word before God that you did Dean Winchester no harm?”

Dean realized he was holding his breath about the same instant he realized Cass didn’t respond to that. Another very long while passed before the angel spoke.

“Only insofar as what was needed to remove the spell without his knowledge.”

“And why couldn’t he . . . oh. Oh, I see.”

Damn it, just what was Rowena seeing in there?

“It’s like that then,” she said next.

“I didn’t—I mean, I believe, firmly, that I have made the best possible choice for Dean considering the circumstances.”

“And considering the circumstances, I supposed I’ll have to accept that.”

“Thank you.”

“On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“You’ll tell him. When the time is right and yet another end of the world isn’t hanging over both your heads, you’ll tell him everything.”

Cass didn’t talk again for a minute. “When the time is right,” he said finally.

Rowena _tsked_ at him. “Well, I’ve no business judging an angel, I suppose, but I’m wondering if you mean when the man is dead and you’re crying over his grave. Oh well. Help me arrange these vials of werewolf’s blood by strength. This spell will be a delicate process when I’m at it.”

Small sounds of tinkling glass followed, and Dean carefully backed up the hall, listening behind him now to make sure when Jack came around the corner with Rowena’s maps he looked like he was walking toward the dungeon.

“Do these look good?” Jack asked as he appeared, passing a few printouts over. Dean nodded as together they entered the dungeon Jack and Cass had prepared, putting away everything that was flammable or easily broken. Cass, he noticed, met his eyes as usual but looked away, coming over to help Jack spread the printouts over the table.

Rowena met his eyes squarely, holding his gaze long enough to make him realize she’d known he’d been out in the hall, hearing every word.

Which only begged the question, why hadn’t Cass known it?


	8. Chapter 8

As much as he wanted to, Dean had no time to pursue the mystery further that day or the next. Rowena’s spells brought very bad news: all the magic used to build and protect the bunker was under attack, from the little spells to create harmony with air, earth, water, and fire to the major spells put in place to destroy the bunker in case of a takeover.

And on the tech side, Alex determined that they were also under attack with controlled electro-magnetic pulses that were taking out their remote data-gathering devices.

In short, no one got much sleep for the next thirty-six hours, and their only news was they were even more screwed than they had thought they were.

“Look,” Dean said that next evening, looking over a weary crew—including a mascara-smudged Rowena, which was just never a good sign. “We need to start making decisions. What’s the most likely day for them to attack, and how do we summon the elementals of Charity and Compassion?”

“I’m not sure,” Cass said.

“How to summon them?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure Charity is the best elemental for Avarice.” Cass scowled at the ground. “Wrath against Compassion, yes. But as for Charity, one can be greedy for charity, voracious in one’s pursuit to help others.”

“Is there even another candidate?” Jack asked.

“Don’t leave us hanging,” Kelle said.

“Shame.” Cass’ gaze was basically boring a hole in the floor now.

The others looked around, but no one seemed any wiser, except maybe Rowena, whose shimmering eyes seemed suddenly sad.

“Shame destroys the mechanisms of avarice,” Cass said. “Avarice is to want and to feel entitled to that wanting. Shame reminds us that we are entitled to nothing. That we have been given more than we deserve. Shame halts greed in its tracks.”

“And shame is an elemental?” Kelle asked.

“By one name, though some cultures call it Guilt, which is different. But the elemental force behind the feeling is the same.”

“Which is what?” Dean asked.

Cass rocked his head back and forth slightly. “Self-hatred or perhaps the desire for self-destruction. Basically, being unworthy.” He looked up, suddenly all business. “I imagine it was spawned as a response to the creation of the universe. To make nothing and turn it into the beautiful. There would be a primal force to reject that change.”

“So our choices for Avarice are Charity and Shame?” Kelle asked.

“No,” Dean said. “If Cass says it’s Shame, it’s Shame.” He acknowledged the look the angel sent him with a nod. Honestly, though, what reason was there for debate? Were the rest of them supposed to pretend they knew better than they guy who’d been around since before the Flood?

“So we’re calling up Compassion and Shame,” Sam said. “How do we do that?”

“They’re most generally found in the aftermath of a great disaster,” Cass said.

“Ach, we’ve haven’t the time to chase them down,” Rowena said. “We must bring them here.”

Proud’s phone buzzed. “It’s Kim,” he announced, looking at his screen.

“Kim?” Dean asked.

“The shaman. I’m being told to open the door.”

Dean nodded, crossed through the war room, and went up the stairs with Proud behind him. He opened the outside door and looked out, and then looked down, and then a little further down.

A figure stood there, not quite four feet, brown as a nut and so wrinkled and covered in layers he couldn’t tell if the person were Native American or Asian, or even male or female. He had no trouble identifying the aroma of patchouli oil and weed.

“You letting me into your fortress or not?” the figure croaked out while sandal-clad, blackened feet shifted irritably.

“Kim,” Proud said with deep respect. “Thank you for coming.”

“The land is sick,” the figure replied, little slits of eyes looking back over the space behind them. Dean spotted a parked VW bus that had probably once been red, its side windows covered in sigils and Burning Man stickers. “No point growing sick with it.”

“Come on in,” Dean said, stepping back to allow the colorful but faded mound of leather, hemp, and roughly loomed wool to pass. From the back, Kim offered a waist-length gray braid with a few beads and some twine woven in.

Dean was surprised to see Rowena at the bottom of the stairs. “Kim,” she called up. “It’s an honor.”

“I’ve heard of you as well, Rowena MacLeod,” the shaman said, getting off the stairs and walking past her without another look.

“Fair enough,” Dean heard the witch sigh to herself. Dean tried to give her an encouraging smile as he passed but knew he probably didn’t quite make it. The memory of Cass under that mad dog spell wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Everyone faced Kim as the shaman entered the library. The gray head turned to look over everyone in turn, then stopped at Cass.

“What the hell are you?” Kim demanded.

Cass looked Kim over. “I’m an angel,” he said with that quarter-bow thing he used when he said that to people.

“I thought you had all returned to the sky.”

“I prefer to work here.”

“The clouds sag under the weight of souls,” Kim said, sounding just like a scolding mother, or father.

“I’m more concerned right now with the incursion of Mammon into this realm.”

“Ah, the one who wears the Raven’s face. He is not pleased.”

“Good,” Dean said, getting those little slit-eyes to turn to him. “We were hoping he and you might help us.”

“I cannot speak for the Raven.” Kim looked at Proud, then at Sam. “What can you tell me of the sickness of the land?”

Sam and Jack, and then eventually everyone who had something to say filled Kim in. Kim took a seat, a glass of water, a cup of tea, some bread and cheese, and two more cups of tea, nodding occasionally. Then the shaman stood.

“I have to urinate.”

Maggie led Kim to the facilities, then returned.

“Proud,” she asked quietly, looking embarrassed. “Is Kim a man or a woman?”

Proud shrugged. “I’m not sure.”

Everyone shuffled and shrugged for a moment.

“She’s female,” Cass said, frowning as most everyone relaxed just a bit. “Though I don’t understand what difference it makes.”

“It’s a human thing, Cass,” Dean said. “We just like to know, you know, for the pronoun.”

Cass looked disapproving.

Kim returned. “I must sleep. The witch and I will summon spirits in the morning. They will tell us the names of Compassion and Shame.” She looked at Rowena. “You must join me outside as the sun appears.”

“Well, dawn’s not the best hour for my powers,” the witch responded with a determined sparkle. “But I’ll be there.”

Kim nodded, then just stood and waited.

“Oh,” Sam said. “This way.”

“Sleep sounds like a good idea for everyone,” Dean said as Sam led Kim out of the room. Kelle met his eye.

“I’ll get the women without beds settled in the garage,” she said, her eyes letting him know it was nothing personal.

Dean was too tired to be disappointed. “Guys, take whatever corner you can find. Just stay out of the storage room and the dungeon.”

“Maggie can have my bed,” Jack said. “Kirk and I can take the floor in my room.”

“Keep your bed, Jack,” Maggie said, hefting her sleeping bag from the pile in the corner. “Kirk and I will take the floor.”

“I really don’t mind the floor,” Jack said as he led the other two out.

Dean watched Cass watch everyone file out, then sit himself on a chair at the table.

“Gonna watch over us, Cass?”

“Always, Dean.”

He sent the guy a smile and went to bed. Sleep came easily.

When something moved in the night, waking up came easily too. Dean had his pistol in his hand and was off the bed in two seconds, bare feet on the cool floor. Not moving, not breathing, he waited for whatever it was to make another noise.

A minute of silence later, he walked cautiously to his door, listening but hearing nothing. He crept into the hall, walked over a sleeping bag, and followed some instinct into the library.

Cass was just where he’d left him, but the angel didn’t turn to face him. Instead, he was staring off, as though in a trance. Did angels meditate instead of sleep, or was Cass under some sort of attack?

Dean took two quiet steps forward, then froze up again as Cass seemed to jolt himself out of his absent state. His cheeks flushed, and he blew out a breath, looking down at the table with, of all things, a pleased smile.

“Cass?”

Startled blue eyes flew up to meet his, but almost instantly a calm mask fell. “Dean? Is something wrong?”

“I was going to ask you that.”

“I was just thinking. I believe you humans call it wool-gathering.”

“Uh huh.”

“Why are you awake?”

“I don’t know.” Dean realized he still had his gun in his hand and tucked it into his waistband. “Something woke me, but I’m not finding anything.”

“I’ll make a tour of the bunker.” Cass stood.

“I’ll come with you.”

They went over every foot of the place, careful not to wake any of the humans in their beds or bags, but found nothing. Eventually, Dean went back to bed for another hour, then woke up and got the coffee going for Rowena and Kim.

As it turned out, everyone was up by dawn for what looked like a glorious autumn day. Most of them were standing on the hillside at a respectful distance watching as Kim drew a circle on the ground with red sand around herself and the shimmering witch, then began chanting. Rowena listened for a moment, and then began a sing-song of enchantments, weaving them through the chanting with a counterpoint harmony.

Nothing happened for a while, and then Dean noticed the sky was getting darker instead of lighter. Darker spots became storm clouds, and then lightning cracked and fizzled, filling the air with static electricity.

Kim and Rowena raised their arms, calling out, and from the now night-like sky came two funnels of light, one surrounding Cass, the other Mary, both of whom spasmed, bowed back, and then fell to their knees.

With a rumble, the light flickered out and the sky bloomed into a bright, clear morning.

“Mom!” Sam yelled.

“Cass!” Dean called out, running over.

“Do not touch them!” Kim shouted as Rowena ran over to Mary, waving everyone back.

Dean got close enough to Cass to see his eyes had rolled back as he faced the sunlight. His arms were outstretched, body still bent back. Mary looked much the same.

Kim poured sand in a circle around Cass, then around Mary.

“What’s happening?” Bobby demanded.

“They’re calling to the elementals,” Rowena said.

“Cass is calling to Shame?” Dean asked, hating the sound of it.

Rowena shook her head. “He’s calling to Compassion. Mary is calling to Shame.”

“Are they answering?” Sam asked.

“Patience, child,” she cooed as she sat herself on a rock and opened a red parasol. “It will likely be hours yet.”

They ended up watching shifts, with about five people outside the bunker at any given time, not counting Rowena and her parasol or Kim and her occasional dances and chants.

Dean was doing another tour of the bunker, looking for red rooms, when Sam found him.

“Kim says Mary wants to talk to us.”

Back outside, the two brothers sat on the ground just outside the red circle around their mother. Everyone else stayed several feet away.

Mary’s eyes were still all white, her face pointed at the sun, but her lips were moving silently.

“Mom?” Sam asked. “We’re here.”

“As long as you need us,” Dean added. “Whatever it is you want, you tell us.”

Her mouth worked quietly for another minute, then they faintly heard, “I couldn’t face you, before.”

“Before what?” Sam asked.

“Before. Before the other world. Before I went there and saw.” She drew a ragged breath. “That world, the one without my boys, the boys I only had because of the deal I made. For so long, ever since I came back, but even before then, when you were so small. I thought I could protect you, and then I knew, I knew when I came back that I had traded your lives, any hope of good lives for my boys for a ten-year lie of a good life for myself.”

“Mom,” Sam said, shaking his head.

“But then I found out what that trade really meant, what it did to that world that I didn’t make a deal with that demon, how there was no one to stop the Apocalypse. And then I thought, I thought I wouldn’t hate myself for it anymore because of the good that I did.”

She breathed again for a while.

“But it doesn’t change why I made that deal, why I traded my sons’ future for my own.”

“You didn’t know,” Dean said. “You had no way of knowing what that deal was about.”

“I knew it wasn’t any good. I knew I shouldn’t make it. But I saw John lying there, dead, and everything I wanted dead with him. I made that deal, and it doesn’t matter if it saved the world. I traded on the future of my unborn sons.”

“There was more to it than that,” Sam said. “All of Heaven wanted you to have us, did you know that?”

“Heaven?”

“You and Dad were matched up by a cupid,” Dean said. “On Heaven’s orders. The whole universe wanted me and Sammy to be born.”

“That’s not why I made the deal.”

They waited, but it became clear Mary had said all she was going to. Kim came over eventually and said they could leave for now. As they headed back to the bunker, though, Dean paused at Cass’ circle and knelt down.

Cass’ lips moved suddenly, then stopped, and then he said quietly, “You try so hard. So very hard. Can anyone truly be surprised at how much I love you?”

“No, Cass,” Dean said, standing up again when the angel said nothing more. “Not surprised a bit.”

Sam was waiting for him, and together they walked toward the bunker. It was getting to be late afternoon.

“So, I see, you and Cass, you’ve worked things out?”

Dean frowned at him. “Worked what out?”

Sam shrugged. “You know. Like I said, we weren’t blind to it.”

Dean stopped, looked around to see no one else was in earshot, and then faced Sam dead-on. “OK, see, something here isn’t adding up. Cass and Rowena and now you—I want to know what everyone else seems to know except me.”

“Dean, I know it’s your and Cass’ business, but we all noticed.” Dean shook his head, eyes confused. “The way you were standing next to each other, the way you’d touch, and then the way you’d pointedly not touch. The tension was thick, you know?”

“What tension? Wait, do you—“ He quieted his voice. “Do you mean sexual tension?”

“Duh.”

Dean stared at him until Sam frowned. “One night when you guys came in it was obvious you’d at least been kissing. Don’t you remember?”

“No. No, I don’t remember a damn thing.” Dean looked over to Cass, Mary, the shaman, and the witch. “Rowena.”

“You think Rowena did something to you? A spell?”

“No, but I heard her telling Cass she knew he’d done something. He said he got me out of an enchantment, and now he’s protecting me.

“From what?”

Dean shook his head. Cass had said he was safe, and a part of him had taken that on faith. But had Cass meant he was safe from Cass?

He didn’t know. He didn’t have enough to go on. He looked up (just slightly) to his little brother and squared his shoulders. Enough was enough.

“All right. You’re going to tell me everything you’re seen since you first noticed something. I don’t care how small the details get. Every last thing, Sammy.”

He shrugged. “OK, well, I guess it started right after you got darted.”

Dean kept his surprise off his face, but he knew for a fact he was onto something now. He remembered being darted, but it had been filed away in his memory, like having been bitten by a mosquito. Being darted was a big deal. He’d never just put it aside like that, not on his own. In fact, he’d been filing away a lot of important things.

What the hell had Cass done?

An hour later, Dean sat on his bed, door closed, eyes closed. He needed to be out there fighting the good fight, but first he had to get his head together, or he’d be useless.

Fact one: The red dart had done something to him that involved Cass.

Fact two: He and Cass had been acting like secret lovers so overtly that even Sam had noticed.

Fact three: He remembered nothing about that and barely remembered the red dart. The kids in the cage, the sprites, and all the rest he could recall just fine.

Fact four: He knew he’d been under a spell, most likely from that dart.

Fact five: Cass had removed the spell and was currently protecting him from other spells.

Conclusion: The spell had made him and Cass act like they were lovers, and when Cass removed the spell, he’d taken Dean’s memory of it and what it had made them do.

Probability: Cass wouldn’t have taken his memory for a few kisses.

Fact six: Dean was currently sporting a serious boner.

Fact seven: Wait. A boner?

Dean opened his eyes and looked down. Yep. In fact, he was deeply turned on.

Just what had he and Cass done? Had he seen the angel naked? Not just Novak’s body, but Cass and the way the angel sometimes showed himself in his eyes, in his sex-gravel voice? Had Cass touched him? He must have.

It wouldn’t have just been sex, not with Cass. There’d have been love, the kind he’d tried to find with Lisa, with Cassie. He knew he loved Cass like family, but if they’d made it over that line and tumbled into the sheets . . . Holy hell. Had he actually made love with an angel? His head flooded with scenarios: Cass and his eyes and his sex-hair and those long fingers.

And yeah, with male junk too, which made him squirm a bit. But that was just packaging. Considering what was inside, it seemed petty to care too much about that. After all, he was a flexible guy, right? Well, he could be. He knew how deeply Cass loved, how big that angelic heart was.

He flashed back to that night he’d seen Cass in a trance, the way he’d flushed and smiled so sweetly. What had that been about? Had Cass being thinking about—

“Dean!” Jack’s voice called from outside his door, which then opened. The kid stood there looking dazed.

“Jack?”

“You have to come outside, now.”

Dean got off the bed and followed Jack out of the room and up the stairs. He was waiting for an explanation, but it turned out there was no need for Jack to say a word.

Once they were outside, Dean could see for himself. From horizon to horizon, the land was blood red.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean had to hand it to his brother. When he said “deploy,” everybody went to battle stations.

Soon enough, four drivers returned from various directions to give the parameters of the red zone: approximately three miles in radius. The bunker’s warding had been boosted by Rowena and Kim. Cass and Mary, still in their circles of light, had been surrounded by a number of containment and strength wards. Someone had made about twenty gallons of chili and stacks of cornbread to keep them all fortified, and Alex had set up a number of passive alarms sensitive to changes in temperature and barometric pressure.

The shaman and witch, who had basically become inseparable, reported feeling a dark presence that was centered not only on Cass, but also on Dean, Sam, Jack, and Mary. Dean figured their enemy knew them well enough to pick them out, but so what?

Dean spent a lot of time next to Cass as the afternoon turned into evening. Oddly enough, it was comforting sitting next to his unresponsive ass. True, they were about to fight another battle to save the world, and getting complacent about such things was a really bad idea, but Mr. I’m the Size of Your Chrysler Building over there didn’t just love him, he was in love with him. As incredibly cool as it was to have an angel as a best friend, now he had an angel who wanted—well, he wasn’t exactly sure just what Cass wanted from him, other than sex. But it was wild to think about.

The sky thickly clouded up again, so it was just his watch that told him when it was night.

“Dean.”

“Cass?” He waited. God, it was weird. He feel like he could wait forever for Cass to say something. Maybe it was just that their friendship had been so odd from the beginning, what with Cass saving him from hell and being older than dirt, but it was an odd relief to know things were finally going somewhere.

“Dean.” And now Cass said his name like a prayer, kneeling there in the dirt with a spotlight on him. It was said like something to bring comfort. That trench coat was lit up like a holy shroud.

“The bees are dying,” Cass said next, his eyes still rolled back and his face lifted up to a sun that wasn’t there anymore. “Too many pesticides.”

“I heard about that,” Dean said. “But people will figure it out and stop it. We need bees. We’ll do what it takes to save them.”

“I hope so, Dean.”

“I love you, by the way.” Dean thought about it, then nodded. “Yeah. I wanted to say that just in case. I mean, you’re calling down Compassion, and I don’t know what that’s going to do to you. So, yeah. I love you, and if something happens to you tonight, you better bust your ass to get back to me, you understand?”

Cass didn’t answer, but Dean told himself Cass heard him.

An hour later, the temperature began to drop. The only illumination from the sky came from the spotlight cones around Mary and Cass, but the hunters had set up an array of arc lights to shining on the area for yards around. They could all see the red ground as it began to turn slightly pink. Standing, Dean could feel the cold bite through the soles of his boots.

Except for the hunters keeping an eye on the rooms inside the bunker, everyone was on the field. They held basic weapons, hex bags, and charms that Sam, Rowena, and Kim had distributed hours ago.

The ground crackled with ice as the brightness around Cass and Mary intensified to the point that Dean couldn’t look at them, staring up instead at the sky’s weighty darkness and thinking, _Now, you bastard_.

“There is nothing for you here,” Mary said in a voice a hundred times more powerful than her own, shaking the ground with each vowel. “You deserve nothing here.”

“Brother!” Cass called in a deep, powerful voice that was actually quite like his own, though much louder. “Think of what you’re doing!”

Contained explosions sounded all around them as the land popped and snapped from the ice. Dean found himself pushed down to his knees, blinded from the light around Mary and Cass and helpless under the weight of the sky.

White vapor slowly rose from the tortured ground.

“You have nothing here!” the voice from Mary screamed.

“Mammon!” Cass said, and the angel was up on his feet, arms spread, still addressing the sky. “There is no gold or glory here! Only a few angels power Heaven!”

The sky broke with a fracture beyond imagining, yet it did not fall.

“Take me now if you don’t believe me!” Cass yelled, and damn if Dead didn’t know that one already. He tried to say something, but he couldn’t breathe anymore.

The cones of light around both Cass and Mary compressed to thin pillars, distorting everything around them. Dean felt the world buckle, and a force threw him backward to the icy ground.

Five seconds later, it was pitch dark and quiet. The buzzing of the arc lights was gone. Every sound was gone.

Dean saw nothing and felt only the dread Cass’ last words had left inside him. It took everything he had to sit up, yet still he saw nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing except that God-awful cold.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice called faintly from the left.

On his hands and knees, Dean groped around where Cass should have been and found nothing.

“Sam? You see Cass? Mary? Anybody?”

“I’m here!” Maggie called, also from the left, but further forward.

Several other voices piped up, but not the two he most wanted to hear.

Sam got a lighter going, revealing his pinched face and a brilliant flickering reflection from the white ground.

“My phone’s dead,” he said.

Dean checked his dead piece of tech, then pulled out his own lighter.

“Cass? Mary?” he called.

“I found Mary!” Jack called out, a small glow from his lighter showing her slumped form. “She’s out, but she’s breathing!”

The sound and sight weren’t coming from where Mary had been before. Had she and Cass been thrown clear somehow?

Walking blindly, Dean ran into some woman, then a guy. Damn it. Several lighters were going now, but they added more glare than illumination. Fortunately, some people were lighting candles, which were slightly better.

And then he saw something in the distance: a warm, soft glow.

“Cass?” he called, stumbling a bit as he jogged over to the source, which was Cass’ hand.

“Dean?”

“Thank God.” Dean sank down beside the form in its rumpled trench coat with a relief that sucked the strength from his bones. In a second, he had a trembling angel gathered up inside his arms, breathing in Cass’ earth-ozone smell and feeling the guy’s ribs move as he breathed.

“Dean.” Arms went around him in turn. “Mammon is still here.”

“Damnit, Cass.” Dean turned his head away to shout: “Mammon’s here! Keep watch!” Turning back, he asked quietly, “What does it look like?”

“It’s here, Dean.” Cass’s hand brought one of Dean’s to the ground. The oddest sensation pinched his skin even as he noticed Cass was having trouble catching his breath. “It’s gathering itself.”

“How do we stop it?”

“Rowena. Kim.”

Dean shouted for the witch and the shaman even as Sam rushed over to them.

“Devil’s trap,” Cass gasped next. “Red.”

Rowena showed up with some sort of red chalk dust and made the first circle in the light of twenty candles. Sam and Kim joined in. Dean knew he should help, but Cass was completely lax against him and still working hard to breathe. Mary showed up looking pale (even considering the bad lighting) but breathing normally.

“Castiel?” Mary called.

“You did well, Mary,” Cass wheezed. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.”

“What’s happening to the ground?” Maggie asked, leaning over to look down and almost losing her balance.

“It’s thickening,” Jack said.

“It’s Mammon forming,” Kim said. “What next, angel?”

“Put me inside the trap,” Castiel said, sounding as though his lungs were deflating.

“I got it,” Dean said, lifting the 180 pounds of human vessel and putting him down in the very center.

“Leave me, Dean,” Cass said,

Dean almost obeyed, then realized, “Cass? Are you making yourself bait?”

“Get out of the trap, Dean.” The angel’s head rolled on his shoulder, blue eyes looking black in the night, but still expressive as hell.

“Not a chance.”

“Dean.”

“If I’m here you won’t sacrifice yourself, will you?”

Cass rolled his head the other way, snarling weakly.

“Undo what you did to me, Cass.”

The angel shot him an incredulous look despite his weary eyes.

“We finally had sex, right? You finally figured out I’m in love with you?”

“Dean, no. That’s not—that’s not what happened.”

Ignoring the roaring beginning in his ears, the vibrations in the air that set the fine hair on his skin upright, and the fact that the world was about to end one more time, Dean leaned into that ashen face, found those dry, soft lips in the dark, and kissed Cass the way he’d been thinking of kissing him almost nonstop for the last several days.

Cass didn’t respond at first, so Dean just enjoyed the strangely sweet taste of him and the strong yet delicate feel of his mouth. But then Cass moaned, an almost familiar sound that got his heart racing, and his mouth opened, coaxing Dean’s tongue inside.

A powerful warm hand slid up to cradle his neck, tipping his head just slightly to the side to allow the kiss to deepen even further. Sitting on the freezing ground, Dean knew nothing but heat, his body warming to the hot form wrapping around him.

“Give me my memories back,” Dean said when they broke for breath. “I want to remember being with you.”

“With me?” Cass slurred the words as Dean kissed his neck over and over.

“Tell me,” Dean said, and his own words felt like porn. “Did I suck you off?”

“No, but I, I took you in my mouth, in my body.”

“Cass, seriously?” Dean smothered that fantastic mouth with his own once more. “I was inside you?”

“You were everything to me.”

“Give it back, Cass. Now.”

And as they kissed again, the images washed over him: Cass beneath him, Cass sucking him, Cass worshipping his body with his vessel. Cass giving him more than he knew he wanted.

“How could you take that from me?” Dean asked. “How could you think I wouldn’t want to remember that forever?”

“You were under a spell.” Cass kissed around his ear, up his jaw, down his neck, along his collar bone.

“No spell could make me feel like that.” Dean was tired of talking and returned to the kissing. Everything about Cass was hot, urgent, perfect, and right there. Right there in front of him, all for the taking: a friggin’ angel, all Dean’s.

Someone was screaming about something, and the ground moved, which was hardly surprising, but then when Cass pulled back for breath again, he frowned.

“Dean! Cass!” Sam shouted. “What did you do?”

With supreme reluctance, Dean looked away from Cass’ shining lips and eyes and saw they were surrounded by fire along the outer ring of the devil’s trap.

“Cass?”

“Mammon is trapped in here with us.”

At Cass’s words, the flames shot from three feet to thirty feet, blasting them with heat until Cass held up a hand, cooling the air around them.

“What do you want?” Cass shouted at the flames. “The gold of Heaven? Heaven is currently nine angels and 55 billion souls. Do you wish to bring those souls to Earth?

Dean stared at him. What the hell? He knew Heaven was low on angels, but that low?

“The riches of Heaven come from the angels who power it. They can barely keep the lights on! And if you’re trying to capture the souls themselves, they are guarded by Naomi, and she will see them fall before she allows you to take them!”

It was odd, but Dean could tell the flames were thinking over Cass’ words as he stared into their towering dance.

“ _We will face each other on another battlefield, Seraph_ ,” Mammon said.

And the flames died.

Dawn had broken some time ago, Dean saw, blinking in the natural light and seeing the hunters gathered around them. Mary looked faint with relief as she saw him. Sam smiled and did that jerking half-nod; Maggie and some other hunters cheered. Jack stood up straighter, Rowena sparkled, and Kim—

“Where’s Kim?” he shouted, ears still ringing.

Everyone looked around.

“You wanna get out of there?” Sam asked, obviously not caring about the shaman and stepping into the trap to offer up his hands. They both used Gigantor to get upright, and Dean waited until Cass was steady on his feet to let go.

The next few hours were spent doing basic damage assessment, though Dean’s eyes never left Cass for long. At first, the angel looked apprehensive, then uncomfortable, and then more than a little smug. Dean figured he’d realized Dead wasn’t angry (too much) about the memory wipe, then that Dean had plans, excellent plans that were going to make them both very happy.

Finally, Dean sidled up to his brother.

“Unless there’s an emergency, don’t let anyone come looking for us.”

“Understood,” Sam said with a little smirk Dean would have taken exception to, except it was low-key and seemed genuinely happy.

“Talk to you later.”

Castiel was standing near the doorway between the library and war room, watching Jack interview an indulgent-looking Rowena with his own fond smile.

“We need to talk, Cass,” Dean growled, not breaking stride on the way to his bedroom.

The angel followed quietly, and it occurred to Dean as they rounded the corner in to the hallway that he had no idea what sort of face Cass was going to pull when he got them alone. Angry? Horny? Bashful? Contrite? Horny?

But no. To Dean’s disappointment, when he locked the door behind them and turned to look at the being he wanted to make his lover, standing near the bed but not looking at it, slumped as always inside that damn coat, Cass was just serious.

“Cass, this is a good thing.” He walked forward to put his right hand on the angel’s shoulder.

But instead of smiling, that somber face made a sort-of smile, the kind that wouldn’t fool a five-year-old. “Of course it is, Dean.”

“All right, enough of that. Spill.”

To his credit, Cass nodded. “I violated your mind, Dean.”

“I forgive you.”

“I—”

“I forgive you for that too.”

Cass scowled. “Dean.”

“Cass, come on. I don’t care. You made the best calls with what you had. I was under a spell. How were you supposed to know it just made me realize what I already felt? How could you trust it?”

Cass looked amazed. Cass so often looked at him like that, like he couldn’t believe Dean was real, which was ridiculous. Cass was the unreal one here, the miracle.

“God, I’ve loved you for so long now, Cass. I didn’t realize I could have you too, or we would have been here a long time ago.”

Finally a real look of happiness was dawning on the angel’s face. “I would do anything for you, Dean. Anything.”

“Then forgive yourself the way I do, and let’s just—damn it, Cass. Let’s just stay horizontal for a few days straight. Can we do that?”

Cass nodded with extreme solemnity. “If it were up to me, we wouldn’t get out of bed until the next Apocalypse.”

Dean knew he was smiling like a fool. “Let’s shoot for the weekend first, hey, buddy?”

Cass nodded again, and then, thank goodness, St. Peter, and his secretary, they were kissing again.

Nobody had ever made him feel the way kissing Cass made him feel, and a big part of it was that Cass wasn’t shy about showing his own enjoyment. For a nerdy little guy, Cass was a pro at porn noises, gasping and moaning and growling before Dean even managed to get that coat off. Then the tie and the jacket, then Dean’s flannel shirt, then Cass’s dress shirt, then Dean’s Henley, then both pair of pants and briefs, and somewhere in there they lost their shoes and probably their socks, but Dean just didn’t give a damn when a bare chest was pressed against his own.

Finally, they were lying on his bed. The heady sense of possibilities and available flesh almost did him in.

Cass’ skin was smooth and hot and soothing. As much as Dean loved the delicacy of women, Cass’ strength and heat were such turn-ons the hunter was afraid he’d come on Cass’ stomach if he didn’t get a grip on himself.

“I love you, Dean,” Cass gasped out between kisses, his breath thin again, but now with excitement.

“Damn it, Cass. There’s nothing I don’t want to do with you.” Dean was working hard not to keep his eyes from rolling back. Naked Cass was beautiful. The smooth slope of his neck to his shoulder, the cut of his stomach above his hipbones, his dusky nipples. And those thighs. What right had Cass to have thighs like that?

“Tell me everything we can do. Tell me what I can do to make you feel good,” Dean whispered against the earth and ozone of Cass’ body. “Do angels have stuff they do? All of it. I want everything.”

“Oh, God,” Cass groaned.

“Whatever we can touch, rub together, whatever, whatever feels good for you. God, Cass, do you have any kinks? Do you like to—”

“Dean, you need to be quiet, or I’m going to explode.” Cass thrust his hips forward, sliding their cocks together perfectly. A warm hand wrapped around them both, and Dean’s eyes lost the battle to roll up into his skull.

After they came, Dean used the afterglow to plant kisses everywhere he could find. Cass had a cleft chin like his own, but nicer. And each of his fingers was so elegant-looking and powerful. As he suckled them, he imagined them fucking his ass. And by the time Dean had kissed his way down to the dark curls below, Cass was hard again, leaking and straining and looking about two seconds from begging.

But he realized he didn’t want Cass to beg. God. He never wanted Cass to beg for anything ever again.

Dean was a little put off by the initial idea; sliding his lips around the head of another man’s cock wasn’t life dream. But even as he frowned at the taste and sensation, Cass groaned.

And it was a new kind of groan. Cass sounded so damn thrilled, so entranced. Cass, who could kick Dean’s butt down the street—and had—literally without breaking a sweat. Cass was groaning that way over something Dean was doing. A hand settled in his hair.

“You’re enjoying me,” Dean whispered. “I can feel how much I’m pleasing you.”

“God. Dean, please.”

“Don’t beg,” he whispered against Cass’ shiny cockhead. Little beads of precum spread over his lips. He opened his mouth, outrageously aroused when Cass undulated his hips and pushed the tip of himself into Dean’s mouth. He wanted Cass to fuck his face. He wanted to Cass to do anything as long as it made him keep making those noises.

Dean experimented a bit, sucking, even biting a little. Cass seemed to love everything.

 _I’ll let Cass fuck me any way he likes_ , Dean thought, realizing the idea sounded fun. He took a breath, then sucked Cass’ hot dick into his mouth as deeply as he could go without gagging. Cass screamed, and then came. Some leaked out his lips, but Dean swallowed most of it, feeling a little like an amateur.

But it was all so much more than worth it when Cass’ ragged voice reached him: “My God. My God. Dean.”

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, Cass.”

Angel-strong arms lifted him back up to face those blue eyes and awestruck face. “How is this possible? How is it you can love me like this?”

Dean took a second to acknowledge that those incredulous words broke his heart a little.

“We’ve saved each other enough times for you to believe me,” Dean said finally, staring into a blue gaze that currently made up the universe. “I love you, Castiel. And you love me. That’s all that matters”

The blue eyes shut, and Dean was gathered up even closer by strong arms and a yielding, loving embrace.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Hey. Thank you back.”

THE END


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